Bragi didn't know what was harder to witness — the twisted mystery tainting the forest floor, or the tension between the two older men growing like churning grey clouds.

He watched the goings on, very much not a part of them, so was startled to be addressed and instructed. Boy. He might've been stung by the curtness, but Mr Fox hadn't asked anyone's name, so Bragi did not take it personally. What he did do, however — and he really couldn't resist — was glance up at the first man, the man who'd said to poke it with a stick. The glance was a request for permission or advice. Perhaps it was his comparative warmth, or perhaps it was something else, but the young Dane instinctively trusted him more than the one instructing him to scoop up a travesty of nature with some handkerchiefs.