The route the witch sent us on quickly brought us to a deep forest full of eerie sounds. I handed the little woman to Thorbjorn and shifted into a wolf, carrying the bag of herbs as long as I could before the horrible medicines inside made me sneeze. Thorbjorn took the satchel, and I ran ahead, scouting as I usually did. To the wolf, the woods were full of more than night sounds—trails left by all sorts of creatures, some of which I’d never met before. I guided us around a porcupine and skunk’s path, and took us the long way around a hill and through a mountain stream just to avoid something large and putrid that left a wide slimy trail like a giant slug.

This place is strange, I stopped to cock a leg and mark our trail against a moss-covered tree. I would not even come here to hunt.

That is good. Our enemies will not think to look for us here.

Thorbjorn cradled the little one in his arms, often giving her tender looks. Claiming a woman changed him. I only hoped she offered all that he wished. For me, she seemed too good to be true.

My nose caught the smell of sulfur, and I snorted, hard.

What is it, Rolf?

There. I pointed with my nose. There is the cave.

It was more of a tunnel, low enough to make Thorbjorn stoop. I snaked ahead, careful not to touch the walls, just as the witch said. The place smelled empty, dry, and unnatural as a tomb. When we came into a clearing beyond the stone shelter, we found the source of the sulfur smell. Hot springs bubbled out of the rocks.

This is a good place, Thorbjorn pronounced. A place of healing.

I was not so sure. Where are we?

Does it matter? We are safe.

I ran along the path, following the trail of the witch before me, a faint herbal scent. She had come this way, but that only made me trust this place less. There were many worlds. Perhaps we wandered into another one, like a hero in a story. But if that were the case, if we had strayed into another world, how will we return?

Ahead, tucked into a grove of hemlock, fern and moss, was a little cabin. Built with clean smelling pine and cedar, it had two windows—rare in so small a dwelling—and a little door that stank of dye.

“Paint,” Thorbjorn said aloud. “Someone has recently marked this door.”

Should we go in? I hung back. I did not trust this witch any more than I would eat her. But I smelled nothing untoward. I ran about the clearing, checking each rock and leaf, as Thorbjorn waited with the woman in his arms.

All clear? He asked when I was done.

I huffed, unhappy.

The cabin door swung open on well-made hinges. Inside there was a wide bed, round stumps for seats, and a wide stone fireplace. Plenty of iron pots and implements hung from the roof, as well as bundles of herbs. The ceiling was very high, a relief for a Berserker, who stood a foot taller than the tallest man.

“This will do,” Thorbjorn set the little one on the bed. “This will do nicely.”

Away from his warmth, the woman stirred. He wasted no time taking down a pot and brewing tea.

I padded to her and poked her with my nose. She winced but did not open her eyes. Our woman suffered in the grip of fever, and some nightmare. I licked her hand, and whined.

“She’ll be all right,” Thorbjorn answered my silent worry. “A little medicine, and rest, and she’ll be on her feet.” He picked up a water bucket and left. I pushed firewood into the hearth until my warrior brother returned with the bucket full to the brim. He poured half into the iron cauldron.

Careful. I wrinkled my wolf nose. You don’t know what evil brew the witch made in that pot.

“Probably a stew. Will you ever learn to trust witches?”

Do you trust them?

“Not usually, but they are our allies, at least for a time. They wish us to stand between them and the Corpse King.” He finished building the fire and set the cauldron on the wood once the flames took. “I have often wondered what a witch did to you.”

Other than turn me into a monster?

I know she kept you longer than the others, and when I went back for you, it took three days to convince you to live. What I told Sage was true.

He stared at me, and I stared back until Sage let out a shuddering sigh on the bed. When he rose to bring the herbal brew to her, I padded out the door.

I did not trust the witch, or our newfound luck. I did not trust the woman that was to be our savior. She was so small, so frail. Everyone I’d loved had died. I would not set my hopes on her until I was sure she would live.

Until then, Thorbjorn could see to her, and I would hunt.