When I shivered, he leaned against me, and I took advantage of the excuse to settle against his side. He put his arm around my shoulder, gingerly, as if I might throw him off. I snuggled closer and may have exaggerated my shivering and chattered my teeth until his arm tightened around me.

“It is not the place for a picnic,” he said. “But … wine?” He lifted the skin.

I chuckled. “Mmm, not sure I should take wine from you, my lord prince. How can I be sure you’ll not use it to enchant me?”

He blushed at that, his fair skin turning ruby red, and I took a moment to enjoy that flush, that sign that his mind must have leapt to thoughts of love potions. Then I released him with, “I’ll drink it if you promise it won’t turn me into a frog,” and he gave a sharp laugh and relaxed, his hand rubbing my shoulder.

“Are you sure?” he said. “This seems the perfect weather for a frog.”

“True, but no.”

He uncapped the wineskin and handed it to me. “What would you be, then, Mati, if I could indeed work such an enchantment? Temporarily, of course.”

“A cat,” I said without hesitation. “So the next time I tumble off a cliff, I’ll land on my feet, not my face.”

He laughed then, a glorious sound, and I nestled against him, handing back the wineskin and—

“This was a crazy idea,” a young man said, in a tone that suggested by “crazy” he meant “good.” Slang from a more modern era.

He continued, “It’ll be a kick. I’m glad you suggested it.”

“I’ve always wanted to try hunting,” another young man replied. “You seemed the right person to teach me.”

“I am indeed,” said the first voice, the accompanying laugh a little boastful, a little arrogant.

I was in the forest, the voices floating over me. When I made my way toward them, I caught a glimpse of my own sneakers and the legs of my jeans. Back to myself, then, but still caught in some vision. I continued toward the voices.

“I really am glad you asked,” the first said again. “I know you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but you’re Alice’s friend. I get that.”

A noise from the second young man, a grunt that could be agreement, and the first continued, “I mean it. You two have been pals since you were in diapers, and I’ve told her that’s fine with me.”

I finally reached them and peered through the trees to see that they were more boys than men. Maybe sixteen, seventeen. Dressed in hunting jackets and ankle-rolled jeans that put me in mind of the fifties. The boy in the lead was handsome—blond and burly in that captain-of-the-football-team way. The one behind was smaller, dark-haired, with a quiet intensity about him, and I knew, without another clue, who I was looking at. Another Arawn and another Gwynn.

I knew that, and yet …

These felt like relatives of Arawn and Gwynn, but distant. Very distant. I did not see Arawn and Gwynn in these two the way I saw them in Ricky and Gabriel. Another iteration, but a poor one, the connection weak.

“Did you hear me, Peter?” the blond boy—Arawn—said, glancing over his shoulder

The reply was a quiet, “Yes, I did.”

“I said it’s fine with me. You being pals with my girlfriend.”

The blond boy clearly expected gratitude for his largesse, but Peter only nodded.

The blond boy’s eyes narrowed. “I could tell her to stop seeing you. She’d have to. She’s my girlfriend.”

“I’d like to see you try, Carl,” Peter said, his voice low.

Carl’s face screwed up. “What’s that?”

“I said that I’m glad you let her be my friend.”

Carl turned back around, leading the way through the forest. “You’re welcome. But I would like you to back off a little. Hanging out at school is fine, because I don’t go to hers, but no more of this going for sodas in the evening and picnics on the weekend. That’s for boyfriends.” He glanced back. “Get it?”

Peter’s voice cooled. “I have never made a move—”

“Course not, because you know you wouldn’t get to first base. She’s got me now. You don’t stand a chance.”

“Then you shouldn’t be concerned.” Peter’s voice had gone ice-cold.

“I’m not.” Carl resumed walking. “I’m just saying it looks bad, and other guys talk. I don’t want that. You can be her school chum. That’s it. You don’t like that?” Carl waggled his rifle, his back still to Peter. “Remember what a good shot I am.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Only if it needs to be, Petey,” Carl said with a smirk in his voice. “But you know your place. And it’s not with Alice.” He glanced back. “Not ever with Alice. Remember that. As long as I’m around, she’s mine. I’ll never let her go.”

“Yes, I know,” Peter said.

“Good lad.”

They continued walking. I could feel Peter seething as he watched Carl’s back. They went another ten paces. Then Peter said, “Is that a deer?”

Carl stopped and surveyed the forest. “Where?”

“Up there, to the left.”

Carl waved for Peter to stay where he was and crept forward, his footfalls silent. When he’d gone about five steps, Peter lifted his rifle and aimed it square at Carl’s back.