He went to the woods alone.
It was afternoon, already dark beneath the trees. The path had ordinary distances again. Roots which he'd scarcely noticed as the wolf caught at his shoes. He stopped twice to rest the hand, though he wasn't doing anything with it except carrying it at the end of his arm.
He found the place where he'd caught the rabbit.
At least he thought he did. There was the strip of open ground, the brambles. No sign of anything that had happened. A rabbit hadn't mattered to the woods.
He stood beside the path.
He could keep it.
Silas had no way to take the power unless Daniel agreed. November could belong to him. Another night of cold air filling every part of his body, of distance becoming something he could cross instead of something he had to measure.
He wouldn't go near the workshop. He wouldn't go near people.
He could leave town, find somewhere with room. Drive there before dark, leave his clothes where he'd be able to find them. Bring food first, though the thought of packed sandwiches before becoming a wolf made him laugh.
He had been human when he arranged Jonas's route. Human when he went to meet Silas. There were things he could do better.
He could have no bearer.
He could keep whatever happened to him. That would make the night his, all of it, without someone asleep beneath his hand.
Except he knew how pain felt when there was somewhere to put it.
The thought of another person's chest came with a shame so sharp that he stepped back from nothing. Someone willing. Someone who didn't know enough, as he hadn't known enough in June. It needn't be Leah. It needn't be anybody he loved.
He could explain it beautifully. Tell them the truth in such a way that the truth sounded small.
Silas had done that.
Daniel walked on.
By the river he stopped above the millrace. The ledge was visible, narrow and wet. He looked for the broken place where he'd climbed out. From land it seemed barely enough to help anyone. A roughness in the wall, a foothold beneath the surface. He remembered how his weight had dragged him back.
He'd been stronger than Silas was now.
Silas would be stronger if Daniel gave it back.
And if he got hurt, he would want the chest. He would come back human to get it. The need had brought Daniel crawling into the old office without any pride left, with Jonas's blood still in his mouth.
Daniel stared at the water.
The first version of the thought was so plain he couldn't pretend not to have had it.
Give it back. Bring him here. Don't let him touch.
If the race hurt Silas badly enough, he would want to come back human and pass the wounds across. Daniel would keep the palm off his chest. Leave Silas hurt, in water he couldn't climb out of. If the man drowned, the wolf died with him.
He could see the point at which it might fail: Silas reaching him before the water did.
He went home before he could turn it into anything easier.
Leah was on the floor in the bedroom, sorting things into two piles. Clothes for the yard. Clothes staying behind.
“Those are mine,” he said.
She looked at the socks in her hand.
“Then you owe me some.”
“I'll buy you new ones.”
“Why? These are perfectly good.”
She tossed them onto the pile she was taking.
He sat on the bed.
She looked up.
“What?”
“Could you stop for a minute?”
She put down the shirt.
He told her he was thinking about giving the wolf back.
Her face changed before he could say the rest. Relief, so immediate it hurt him.
Then he told her why.
She stared at him.
Outside a car door shut. Somebody called across the road. The room remained exactly as it had been before he spoke.
“You mean kill him.”
“Yes.”
The word seemed to leave no air behind it.
“In the river.”
“If I could get him there.”
Leah got up. She went to the window, then back towards the wardrobe, making a little circuit with nowhere to end.
“You can leave,” she said. “We can leave. You've told people. You don't have to keep seeing him.”
“I know.”
“You could keep the door shut.”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
He looked at his left hand.
“He'd find someone else.”
“You don't know that.”
“He's already asked you.”
“I said no.”
“And he stopped asking?”
She didn't answer.
Daniel shifted on the bed.
“I want it gone.”
“If you give it back, it's gone from you.”
“Not gone.”
She sat on the chair beside the window. There were trousers over its back, a belt hanging almost to the floor.
“He saved me,” she said.
“I know.”
“I need to be allowed to say that.”
“Yes.”
“And you hurt Jonas.”
He looked up.
“Yes.”
“So I don't know how I'm supposed to decide who gets to live.”
He hadn't meant to ask her that. He'd meant to explain a route, a place, a thing he might be able to do. It had sounded almost practical beside the river.
“I can't do it safely,” he said.
“Of course you can't.”
“I can't make it certain.”
She covered her face with both hands, then lowered them.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I need—”
He stopped.
She waited.
He had almost said help.
“I want you to know,” he said. “I don't want to make something for both of us and tell you afterwards.”
“Do you want me there?”
The answer was another thing he couldn't make innocent.
“Yes.”
She leaned back in the chair.
“Doing what?”
“Staying on land. If I went in—”
“You want me to pull you out.”
“Yes.”
“And leave him.”
He looked at the floor between them.
“I don't know how it would happen.”
“But that's what you want.”
“Yes.”
Leah stood again.
“I can't answer you now.”
“All right.”
“Don't arrange it. Don't go and tell him anything.”
“I won't.”
She gathered the clothes from the floor and put them on the bed beside him.
They made supper because there was food in the fridge which needed using. Daniel chopped mushrooms. Leah stirred rice. He nearly dropped the knife and she caught it before it reached the floor.
For some reason that made them both laugh.
A terrible little laugh, which kept going because neither knew how to stop it.
“Excellent technique,” she said.
“New.”
“Don't use it at work.”
“I'll put it in the book.”
She wiped her eyes with her wrist.
He wanted to take her in his arms. She was standing close enough. He asked before he did, and she let him.
They held one another beside the cooker until the pan began to spit.
Later she said, “I want to see where you mean.”
“In daylight.”
“Obviously in daylight.”
He nodded.
She looked at him.
“That's not yes.”
“I know.”
In bed he stayed awake after she had turned towards the wall. He could feel the heat of her beneath the covers. Ordinary warmth, ordinary breath.
He imagined another night in the woods so clearly that his legs moved.
Leah stirred.
“Daniel?”
“Sorry.”
She settled again.
He lay still, missing something he hadn't yet given away.