“Quiet,” said Frank, looking back over his shoulder. “This is where we are quiet, and stealthy, and hope that we are not attacked. Yes?” We were approaching the woods. I frowned. “Your own people would attack us?” “I’d like to think not, but Frank’s right,” said Dee. “Strange things have been happening in this stretch of wood. The fringe farmers swear it isn’t them, and yet . . .” “Strange things like what?” “Men being bitten in two,” said Frank. “Is that strange enough for you?”
