“There was a fire in the forest. Something strange was burning there. Did it come with him?”

“I do not know anything about it.”

“If you do not, then perhaps the boy does, and he can explain to us where this came from.”

The wolf-man nodded to one of its fellows, and a dark shape flew through the air and landed close to David.

It was the head of the German gunner, all cindery black and charred red. His flight helmet had melted into his scalp, and once again David glimpsed his teeth still locked in their death grimace.

“There was little eating on him,” said the wolf-man. “He tasted of ash, and sour things.”

“Man does not eat man,” said the Woodsman in disgust. “You have shown your true nature through your actions.”

The wolf-man crouched, its front paws almost on the ground.

“You cannot keep the boy safe. Others will learn of him. Give him to us, and we will offer him the protection of the pack.”

But the wolf-man’s eyes gave the lie to its words, for everything about the beast spoke of hunger and want. Its ribs stuck out against its gray fur, visible beneath the white of its shirt, and its limbs were thin. The others with it were also starving. They were now slowly closing in on David and the Woodsman, unable to resist the promise of food.

Suddenly, there was a blur of movement to the right, and one of the lower order of wolves, overcome by its appetites, leaped. The Woodsman spun, the ax rose, and there was a single sharp yelp before the wolf fell dead upon the ground, its head almost severed from its body. A howling arose from the assembled pack, the wolves twisting and turning in excitement and distress. The wolf-man stared at the fallen animal, then turned on the Woodsman, every sharp tooth in its mouth visible, every hackle raised upon its back. David thought that it must certainly fall on them, and then the rest would follow and they would be torn apart, but instead the side of the creature that bore traces of something human seemed to overcome the animal half, and it brought its rage under control.

It rose once again on its hind legs and shook its head. “I warned them to keep their distance, but they are starving,” it said. “There are new enemies, and new predators who compete with us for food. Still, this one was not like us, Woodsman. We are not animals. These others cannot control their urges.”

The Woodsman and David were backing toward the cottage, trying to get closer to the promise of safety that it offered.

“Do not fool yourself, beast,” said the Woodsman. “There is no ‘us.’ I have more in common with the leaves on the trees and the dirt on the ground than I do with you and your kind.”

Already, some of the wolves had advanced and begun to feed on their fallen comrade, but not the ones who wore clothes. They looked longingly at the corpse but, like their leader, they tried to maintain a veneer of self-control. It did not run deep, however. David could see their nostrils twitching at the scent of blood, and he felt certain that were the Woodsman not there to protect him, the wolf-men would have already torn him to pieces. The lower wolves were cannibals, content to feed upon their own kind, but the appetites of the ones who resembled men were much worse than those of the rest.

The wolf-man considered the Woodsman’s answer. Masked by the Woodsman’s body, David had already taken the key from his pocket and was preparing to insert it into the lock.

“If there is no bond between us,” it said, thoughtfully, “then my conscience is clear.”

It looked to the assembled pack and howled.

“It is time,” it snarled, “to feed.”

David fitted the key into the hole and began to turn it, just as the wolf-man fell to all fours, its body tensing and ready to spring.

A sudden yelp of warning came from one of the wolves at the edge of the forest. The animal turned to face some threat as yet unseen, and it drew the attention of the rest of the pack, so that even their leader was distracted for crucial seconds. David risked a glance and saw a shape moving against the trunk of a tree, coiling around it like a snake. The wolf backed away from it, whining softly. While it was distracted, a length of green ivy extended itself from a low branch and looped itself around the wolf’s neck. It cinched tight upon the fur and then yanked the wolf high into the air, the animal’s legs kicking in vain as it began to choke.

Now the whole forest appeared to come alive in a blur of twisting strands of green, the tendrils curling around legs and muzzles and throats, hauling wolves and wolf-men into the air or trapping them upon the ground, drawing tighter and tighter around them until all struggles ceased. The wolves immediately began to fight back, snapping and snarling, but they were powerless against an enemy like this, and those that could were already trying to retreat. David felt the key turn in the lock as the pack leader’s head jerked to and fro, torn between its desire for flesh and its urge to survive. Lengths of ivy were moving in its direction now, creeping across the damp earth of the vegetable patch. It had to choose quickly between fight and flight. With a final growl of fury at the Woodsman and David, the wolf-man turned tail and ran south, even as the Woodsman pushed David through the gap and into the safety of the cottage, the door closing firmly behind them and sealing off the sounds of howling and dying from the edge of the forest.

DAVID MOVED to one of the barred windows as a warm orange glow crept through the little cottage. The Woodsman had made sure that the door was securely bolted and the wolves had fled before piling logs into the stone fireplace and preparing the fire. If he was troubled by what had occurred outside, then he wasn’t showing it. In fact, he seemed remarkably calm, and some of that calm had spread to David. He should have been terrified, even traumatized. After all, he had been threatened by talking wolves, witnessed an attack by living ivy, and the charred head of a German flier had landed at his feet, half gnawed by sharp teeth. Instead, he was merely bewildered, and more than a little curious.

David’s fingers and toes tingled. His nose began to run in the growing warmth, and he discarded the Woodsman’s jacket. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his dressing gown and then felt a little ashamed. The dressing gown, now looking decidedly sorry for itself, was the only item of outer clothing that he possessed, and it seemed unwise to add to its current state of disrepair in any way. Apart from the gown, he had one slipper, a pair of torn, muddy pajama bottoms, and a pajama shirt, which, compared with the other items, was almost as good as new.

The window at which he stood had been blocked by internal shutters behind the bars, with a narrow horizontal slit to allow those inside to see out. Through the gap he saw the corpses of wolves being dragged into the forest, some leaving trails of blood behind.

“They are growing ever bolder and more cunning, and that makes them harder to kill,” said the Woodsman. He had joined David at the window. “A year ago they would not have risked such an attack upon me or upon another under my protection, but now there are more of them than ever before, and their numbers are swelling with each passing day. Soon they may try to make good on their promise to take the kingdom.”

“The ivy attacked them,” said David. He still could not quite believe what he had seen.

“The forest, or this forest at least, has ways of protecting itself,” said the Woodsman. “Those beasts are unnatural, a threat to the order of things. The forest wants no part of them. It is to do with the king, I think, and the fading of his powers. This world is coming apart, and it grows stranger with each passing day. The Loups are the most dangerous creatures yet to have arisen, for they have the worst of man and beast fighting for supremacy within them.”