“Which forest?”

“On the path out of town,” Mop said. “Not toward the mountains. The forest between here and…”

“Between here and the city?”

“Yes.” Mop’s slippery fish agreed. “The cabin is well off the path, though. Better for hunting. It may be hard to find.”

“You believe him?” the strange voice cried. “They have a girl with them!”

“Do you see a girl?” The booted man had lost his patience. “I see a decrepit old man and a senile old woman and some fleece and a few rounds of cheese. If there was a girl, she’s gone. And, oh!” The booted man broke off. “Who did this?” He raised his voice. “Who did this! Who marred the post of the king! Speak up—who saw it!”

“I saw—” called a new voice.

“But the girl—”

“Leave off with the girl! Do you not see I’ve other—”

Still arguing, the booted man and the stranger moved away, footsteps disappearing into the sounds of the market. Open the lid, Rae thought. Open the lid.

“Come, Mop,” Ness said the moment they were alone. “Pack up.”

“But the market is not finished. People will wonder why we’re leaving.”

“We cannot stay longer. We risk too much. Besides, we’ve sold almost everything. It will not look strange to take away the little remaining.”

“Myntas is coming to help—”

“Mop.” Nessa’s voice shook. “We cannot stay. Rae cannot stay.”

Rae did not hear Mop answer, but he must have assented, for she suddenly felt the basket being grasped. The sides sank around her as he lifted her, grunting. “Hard to carry,” he gasped. “The basket is slippery.”

“Put it in the cart, Mop.”

Rae felt her basketed self half dropped into the cart. “Please,” she whispered. “Let me out.” How could she stay longer under the pelt, under its suffocating smell?

“We should have kept the sheep to pull—” Nessa began.

“Nonsense, Ness. I can push it,” Rae heard Mop say before he whispered next to the basket, “Rae, I need you to stay still through the market. When we reach the forest, then you might walk.”

“Y-yes,” Rae forced herself to say, though inside she was all panic. The pelt, its death-heavy scent, clung to her no matter how she shifted. Oh, please, she thought of the wolf, her wolf, suddenly feeling that it was his skin draped over hers, please be all right.

“Now, then.” Rae felt the cart lift, then rock. Mop grunted. The cart lurched. The ground was soft, and the wheels did not want to turn.

“Mop…”

“It’s fine, Ness. Fine.”

But Mop’s voice did not sound fine. Though the cart was now rolling, slowly, unsteadily, his breaths came raggedly.

Rae, faint with unaccountable grief, heard the wheels and wood creak around her. Where are you? she whispered into the fur. Light-headed, reeling, she felt her consciousness tilting beyond the motion of the cart.

“Afternoon,” Mop said to an acquaintance passing by, trying to make his voice light. “Yes, just setting out a bit early. Long walk back, you know!”