Harpo crept through the forest that was creaky and dripping with a recent rain, carpeted with a mist that rose up from the mud. He heard a strange sound, and froze. Seconds later, a deer loped out of the trees, shining sparkling white in the moonlight, like something out of a dream. It turned so Harpo could see it in profile. He stumbled toward it, held out a hand, but the deer turned again and disappeared. He stumbled onward. Suddenly a branch like a crooked finger poked him in the top of the head. He gasped. Blima was a dutiful girl, if she’d run out in a dark forest in the night. There were things out here. There were noises.
He heard a crunch, unmistakably a footstep. Footsteps. More of them, and a guttural muttering in the dark. Harpo froze. Those were angry sounds. Then he saw a bea
