“Hold on tight,” said the Woodsman. “Almost there.”

He sprinted to his right, leaving the easy ground and breaking through a thicket of ferns, and instantly David heard the woods erupt into noise behind them as the pursuit recommenced in earnest. A cut opened upon his hand, dripping blood onto the ground, and a large hole was ripped in his pajamas from the knee to the ankle. He lost a slipper, and the night air bit at his bare toes. His fingers ached with the cold and the effort of holding on tightly to the Woodsman, but he did not release his grip. They passed through another patch of bushes, and now they were on a rough trail that wound its way down a slope toward what looked like a garden beyond. David glanced behind him and thought he saw two pale orbs gleaming in the moonlight, and a patch of thick, gray fur.

“Don’t look back,” said the Woodsman. “Whatever you do, don’t look back.”

David faced forward again. He was terrified, and was now very sorry that he had followed the voice of his mother into this place. He was just a boy wearing pajamas, one slipper, and an old blue dressing gown under a stranger’s jacket, and he did not belong anywhere but in his own bedroom.

Now the trees were thinning, and David and the Woodsman emerged into a patch of lovingly tended land, sown with row upon row of vegetables. Before them stood the strangest cottage that David had ever seen, surrounded by a low wooden fence. The dwelling was built of logs hewn from the forest, with a door at the center, a window on either side, and a sloping roof with a stone chimney stack at one end, but that was where any resemblance to a normal cottage ended. Its silhouette against the night sky was like that of a hedgehog, for it was covered in spikes of wood and metal, where sharpened sticks and rods of iron had been inserted between, or through, the logs. As they drew closer, David could also make out pieces of glass and sharp stone in the walls and even on the roof, so that it shone in the moonlight as though sprinkled with diamonds. The windows were heavily barred, and great nails had been driven through the door from the inside, so that to fall heavily against it would be to risk instant impalement. This was not a cottage: this was a fortress.

They passed through the fence and were approaching the safety of the house when a form appeared from behind its walls and advanced toward them. It resembled a large wolf in shape, except that it wore an ornate shirt of white and gold on its upper body and bright red breeches on its lower half. And then, as David watched, it rose on its hind legs and stood like a man, and it became clear that this was more than an animal, for its ears were roughly human in shape, although tufted with points of hair at the tips, and its muzzle was shorter than a wolf’s. Its lips were drawn back from its fangs, and it growled at them in warning, but it was in its eyes that the struggle between wolf and man was clearest. These were not the eyes of an animal. They were cunning but also self-aware, and they were filled with hunger and desire.

Other similar creatures were now emerging from the forest, some wearing clothing, mostly tattered jackets and torn trousers, and they too rose up and stood on their hind legs, but there were many more who were just like ordinary wolves. They were smaller and stayed on all fours, and looked savage and unthinking to David. It was the ones who bore traces of men upon them that frightened David the most.

The Woodsman lowered David to the ground. “Stay close to me,” he said. “If anything happens, run for the cottage.”

He patted David on the lower back, and David felt something fall into the pocket of the jacket. As discreetly as he could, he allowed his hand to drift toward the pocket, trying to pretend it was the cold that made him seek its comfort. He put his hand inside and felt the shape of a large iron key. David closed his fist upon it and held it as though his very life depended on it, which, he was starting to realize, might very well have been the case.

The wolf-man by the house regarded David intently, and so terrifying was his gaze that David was forced to look to the ground, to the back of the Woodsman’s neck, anywhere but into those eyes that were both familiar and alien. The wolf-man touched a long claw to one of the spikes on the cottage’s walls, as though testing its power to harm, and then it spoke. Its voice was deep and low, and filled with spittle and growls, but David could clearly understand every word that it said.

“I see you have been busy, Woodsman,” it said. “You have been fortifying your lair.”

“The woods are changing,” the Woodsman replied. “There are strange creatures abroad.”

He shifted the ax in his hands in order to improve his grip upon it. If the wolf-man noticed the implicit threat, he did not show it. Instead he merely growled in agreement, as if he and the Woodsman were neighbors whose paths had crossed unexpectedly while walking in the woods.

“The whole land is changing,” said the wolf-man. “The old king can no longer control his kingdom.”

“I am not wise enough to judge such matters,” said the Woodsman. “I have never met the king, and he does not consult with me about the care of his realm.”

“Perhaps he should,” said the wolf-man. He seemed almost to smile, except there was no friendliness to it. “After all, you treat these woods as though they were your own kingdom. You should not forget that there are others who would contest your right to rule them.”

“I treat all living creatures in this place with the respect they deserve, but it is in the order of things that man should rule over all.”

“Then perhaps it is time for a new order to rise,” said the wolf-man.

“And what order would that be?” asked the Woodsman. David could hear mockery in his tone. “An order of wolves, of predators? The fact that you walk on hind legs doesn’t make you a man, and the fact that you wear gold in your ear doesn’t make you a king.”

“There are many kingdoms that might exist, and many kings,” said the wolf-man.

“You will not rule here,” said the Woodsman. “If you try, I will kill you and all of your brothers and sisters.”

The wolf-man opened its jaws and snarled. David trembled, but the Woodsman did not move an inch.

“It seems that you have already begun. Was that your handiwork back in the forest?” asked the wolf-man, almost carelessly.

“These are my woods. My handiwork is all over them.”

“I am referring to the body of poor Ferdinand, my scout. He appears to have lost his head.”

“Was that his name? I never had a chance to ask. He was too intent upon tearing out my throat for us to engage in idle chitchat.”

The wolf-man licked his lips. “He was hungry,” he said. “We are all hungry.”

His eyes flicked from the Woodsman to David, as they had done for much of the conversation, but this time they lingered a little longer on the boy.

“His appetites will no longer trouble him,” said the Woodsman. “I have relieved him of their burden.”

But Ferdinand was forgotten. The wolf-man’s attention was now entirely focused on David.

“And what have you found on your travels?” said the wolf-man. “It seems that you have discovered a strange creature of your own, new meat from the forest.”

A long, thin thread of saliva dripped from its muzzle as it spoke. The Woodsman placed a protective hand on David’s shoulder, drawing him closer, while his right hand held firmly on to the ax.

“This is my brother’s son. He has come to stay with me.”

The wolf fell to all fours, and the hackles on its back rose high. It sniffed the air.

“You lie!” it growled. “You have no brother, no family. You live alone in this place, and you always have. This is no child of our land. He brings with him new scents. He is…different.”

“He is mine, and I am his guardian,” said the Woodsman.