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When I come back out, he takes a formal bow, which looks funny given he is half buried in the reeds.

“Who are you?” I ask, reminding myself that I am five now, which means I should be bold.

“Seven,” he offers with an incline of his head.

“Is that your age?” I frown. “You are very big for seven.”

He grins. “Seven is my name. I am thirteen years old.”

Well, that is a strange name. Still, he has a formal, polite way about him. I like him well already. Papa says a person’s politeness says much about their character. Also, I am convinced he must be a prince.

“My name is Fortuna, but everyone calls me Fawn,” I say, retrieving my doll from the forest floor. “This is Abigale.”

“Fawn…” He smiles. “Well met, Fawn and Abigale.”

“What are you doing here? You will get into trouble if my papa finds you on pack land.”

“Well, I should hate to court your papa’s wrath,” he says. “And I am on a quest. It was wolf pack lands or the bear shifters. And bears are not congenial visitors.”

“Wolves don’t like visitors either,” I point out.

“No,” he agrees. “They do not.” His gaze shifts to the mill—he frowns. “Where is your protector? Are you on your own?”

His tone dips toward the end like he knows I have been naughty.

“I am five,” I say a little defensively. “I can play on my own.”

This is a bold lie, but he does not need to know.

“Hmm,” he says, his lips pursing in a way that makes me feel even more guilty. “Are you lying to me, Fawn? I spotted a bear shifter not so far from here. It is not safe for a little girl to be alone.”

I gulp. My papa says I have a face that looks guilty, even when I am only thinking about mischief. “No.” I shake my head.

“I think it best that I escort you home. You will run ahead, and I shall shift and follow at a distance until I see you reach safety.”

“No, thank you,” I say. This would be a very bad idea, for my mother is sure to scold me, and my papa will too when he gets home. That would not make for a good birthday.

A sudden snarl comes from behind, and I spin around to see a wolf bound through the trees past the old mill—my papa.

Shifting to a werebeast, he snatches me protectively against his chest, growling at Seven. He turns his back, shielding me from view, just as wolves come pounding out of the forest, bound for Seven.

“Papa, no,” I say, throwing my arms around his neck and peering frantically over his shoulder. “He was just a friend. Tell them no!”

On the other side of the river, Seven shifts to his stag form and dashes into the trees.

The wolves surge past us, snarling, splashing straight through the river and onto the other side.

“He is on pack land, Fawn.” Papa’s words are growly around his beastly jaws. “Without the pack leader’s permission. He could have hurt you. Or snatched you away.”

I fall to sobbing. I’m terrified that the beautiful stag shifter will be ripped to pieces.

“Hush, child. They will not kill the young buck. Only teach him the error of his ways.”

“But they are going to hurt him,” I sob.

“Aye, probably, some. As he deserves. If he is clever, he will learn the lesson well. Now, I have told you more than once not to come down here. And where are your shoes?”

“I left them in my nest,” I say, my lips trembling and tears trickling down my cheeks. This is the worst birthday ever. “He was only worried about me. He said that he saw a bear shifter and that he would escort me home. He was very polite. You said politeness said a lot about a person’s character!”