A light rain had begun to fall. Lowen shut the door of the hut firmly behind her and leaned against it, dimly aware of the melodious pattering on the roof as she watched her mother. Kerra’s gaze was distant. Lowen could not decipher what her mother was thinking and somehow, the heavy silence lying between them was far worse than the raised voice she had expected. She fought to retain her anger, fought not to bow her head but to keep her eyes trained on the Scrat Chieftain. Finally, with a long, deep exhalation of breath, Kerra turned to her daughter.

  “Did you speak true? Are you with child?” Her eyes were startlingly wide, her face rigid.

  “I spoke the truth,” Lowen replied, biting back the quaver in her voice.

  “And the child is fathered by a satyr? By that satyr out there in Cade’s cage?”

  Lowen grimaced as hot tears gathered in her eyes. “His name is Nicanor. He is not an animal, he should not be in a cage. I love—”

  Her mother strode across the room and slapped Lowen hard across the face. She rocked back against the door, her skin flaring like a long, red scream.

  “You selfish wretch.” Kerra’s breath was hot, her face stark and wild in a way Lowen had never seen before. “How dare you do this to me?”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Lowen roared.

  Her mother took a step back but her face remained waxy and dark, her hands trembling at her sides. She seemed dangerously close to striking her again.

  “I am your Chieftain, this has everything to do with me. You have broken our most sacred law. Did you think you would be protected because I am your mother? Are you really that stupid?”

  Lowen swallowed her sobs, wiping tears and snot away with the back of her hand. “I’m not stupid, I knew what the consequences would be. I didn’t care.” Kerra stiffened as if she too had been struck. “I didn’t care because I love him. I love him still and you have put him in a cage.”

  The two women backed away from each other. Kerra pulled a stool from beneath the table and sat down while Lowen sank to the floor before the door, pulling her legs to her chest. Overhead, the rain continued its soft dance across the roof as they sat in cold silence beneath it.

  “How far along are you?” Kerra finally said.

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  Lowen was not prepared for the gentler tone in her mother’s voice.

  “I mean, when is the baby due?” Kerra tried again.

  “I have about five months left.”

  Kerra paused again before replying, “You will start to show soon.”

  “That is what Grandmother said.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lowen knew they were a mistake. The Chieftain looked grief-stricken.

  “My mother knew?”

  “She guessed, as she always does. I wanted to tell you. I have wanted to tell you since the beginning, but I knew you would react this way.”

  “And what way is that?”

  Lowen lifted her chin and set her jaw. “Like a Chieftain first and a mother second.”

  Lowen thought Kerra would rise from the table and strike her again. She readied herself to rise and fend off her attack but slipped back to the floor when she saw the anguish on her mother’s face. A sickening spike of shock rolled through her when she realised the Chieftain was on the verge of tears. She had never seen her mother cry, not even when her father died. Not even when she lost the last baby she would ever carry when Lowen was six years old.

  “Mother?”

  “You will have to leave. The tribe won’t accept this.” Kerra was talking to herself, worrying at the tabletop with her fingertips and shaking her head. Her stiff, auburn hair moved about her shoulders. “You will have to leave now. They all heard what you said. There will be questions, accusations.”

  She rose from the table, letting the stool fall behind her with a clatter, and reached for a plain leather travelling bag on a shelf above her head. “You’ll need provisions. And weapons. There are all manner of dangers in the Deep Forest, you need to be prepared.”

  Lowen could only watch in mute, frozen horror as Kerra began opening cupboards and boxes, pulling out bread, cheese, several jars of preserves, and an ancient-looking water skin. She stuffed them methodically into the bag.

  “It will be cold at night, you’ll need a blanket.”

  She rolled up a wool blanket and slid it into the bag. When she turned to a wooden chest and pulled out an old dagger with a worn leather grip that once belonged to her father, Lowen climbed to her feet and crossed the room to put her hand on Kerra’s arm.

  “Please stop, Mother.”

  Kerra dropped the hand holding the dagger to her side, unable to look at her daughter. “How did this happen?” she whispered. “Was I really such a poor mother? Is this my fault?”

  “No. This is not your fault.”

  Lowen forcefully turned her mother to look at her. The lines around her eyes seemed to have deepened since they entered the hut and for the first time, Lowen noticed the first few strands of grey colouring her hairline.

  “It is you who has taught me how to be strong,” Lowen said. She could feel the other woman tremble beneath her hands. Her face crumpled and before the tears came, Lowen gathered her into her arms and held her close. Her mother smelled like woodsmoke and blackberries, the way she had when she’d held Lowen as a child.

  “This was not anyone’s fault. I met a man, I fell in love, that is all.” Lowen spoke into Kerra’s hair, her voice small and muffled. “My child is no mistake, it is a blessing. But I know I have to leave.”

  “Your child.” Kerra pulled away, placed a tentative hand on Lowen’s stomach. She smiled. “My grandchild.”