The beast lifts its head as if sensing something coming. And then I hear it too – there’s someone else in the woods!

Along the edge of the stream where the soil has been washed away, the roots of the Hollow Tree are exposed. If I can squeeze in between the roots, I’ll be out of sight. I move fast, dropping down the embankment, hoping the beast is too distracted to chase me. Huddled against the slope, the stream rushing past my feet, I hear twigs snap, leaves crunch, trees creak. And then, that sound, that call . . .

‘Kaaa li laaaa.’

A cold shiver quakes my body as I crouch amongst the tangled roots. The stream bubbles and gurgles beside me, the beast pants and whimpers as it drags the trap towards the voice. It is too cold and real to be a dream.

I want to peep over the edge, but I don’t dare.

Then a human voice comes from just above me. ‘Kalila . . . Kalila.’ The song is soft, comforting.

The creature lets out a purring sound like a cat, but deeper and throatier. Then the purring changes into a kind of cooing, broken by painful whimpering.

The person is speaking but I can’t quite catch the words. And those I can hear don’t sound like English – they’re too soft, too lyrical. It’s a young voice though, the voice of a boy.

Carefully, I raise my head.

Raffi is shining the beam of a flashlight over the creature’s wounded leg. What’s he doing here? What has he got to do with the beast in my dreams?

I can see the beast clearly now. It’s a fox, or similar to a fox, only twice as big. And instead of being red, its body is covered in silver fur with dark flecks through it. Its front is creamy white, as are its paws. But the hind leg is matted in blood and dangles at a painful angle where the trap is clamped tightly around it.

The fox is staring at the boy like Mystic looks at me. Its eyes are yellow but strangely human, with dark lashes along the top lids.

I am sickened by what I’ve done.

Raffi coos softly to the animal while he releases the injured leg from the jaws of the trap. He looks at it with disgust, and shakes his head. Then he flings it away and rubs the blood on his trousers. He moves his hand in small slow circles over the beast’s wound. A golden light seems to come from his palm.

What is he doing?

The silver fox relaxes and lies so still that for a moment I think it is dead. Then I see its chest moving.

After a few minutes, Raffi sits back on his heels, says something under his breath. The silver fox slowly gets to its feet and starts walking around, and then trotting in circles. I bite back a gasp. Its injured leg seems completely healed!

The fox shakes itself, a streak of silver fur that reminds me of the falling star Petal and I saw the other night. It nuzzles up to Raffi, rubbing its head against him. Then it puts its large paws on his shoulder. Raffi gently grabs the animal around the neck and they tussle and roll on the ground as if they are friends who have not seen each other in a long time.

How does Raffi know this creature from my nightmares? And why is he here?

My thoughts and feelings are scattered like dry autumn leaves kicked into the air. I can’t make sense of any of it. All I know now is that Raffi Tazi has a part to play in my life . . . or my death. A shiver goes through me. How he scares me!

As Raffi talks, the silver fox listens. Then in the pauses it seems to answer him, touching Raffi’s ear with its nose. Raffi nods then stands up and goes inside my Hollow Tree. In the dark, I see the flashlight probing here and there. I hear him rummaging around, flicking through pages of my books, picking things up, emptying things out. It’s as if he is tearing pieces off me and tossing them away. I’m angry. I want to come out of my hiding place and yell at him to stop. What’s he looking for anyway?

The wind suddenly changes direction, blowing from behind me across the stream.

The silver fox lifts its head, nose quivering. It gives a shrill bark and Raffi emerges, looking straight at me. I can’t hide any longer. All I can do is run.

My legs don’t work at first. They are like lumps of concrete, numb from being crammed in between the roots. As the blood rushes back into my feet, pins and needles make them feel as though they’re on fire. But I know the woods well. This is my advantage – the only thing that can save me from the silver fox and from Raffi.

I stumble across the shallow stream, tripping on stones, falling into the water then getting up again.

‘Stop!’ Raffi yells. The silver fox yaps behind him.

I hope he hasn’t recognised me. I don’t want him to know that it was me who set the trap. I pull up the hood of my jacket. It’s dark in the woods. He has a flashlight but still he stumbles, the light bouncing off the trunks. I don’t want to lead him to my home, so I run in the opposite direction.

Grandpa Truegood taught me the deer-stalking run. Head down, breathing steady, pins and needles gone, I’m in my stride now. And I know where I can lose them.

Not far ahead is a maze of trees. And amongst the twisted and corkscrewing trunks is a space just big enough for one small person. I made it a few years ago by twisting branches and vines together into a kind of hammock. It’s the perfect hiding place. Even if the silver fox can follow my scent, I know they won’t be able to find the way in. The trees are so dense they entangle you in grasping arms. The secret way in is by climbing a tree, going out onto a certain limb, and sliding your body into a small gap. Then you climb down to the ground and feel your way through the trees.

I imagine myself as a needle weaving in and out of a tapestry that I have sewn many times before. And that’s how I escape.

Much later I hear Raffi’s laboured breathing, and the panting of the silver fox, but I’m safely in my hammock hideaway.

I stay there until well after the woods have gone silent.