Jacopo didn’t even have time to ask what wolves? before a face emerged from the treeline, its bulbous yellow eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Jacopo caught his breath as the wolves emerged from the forest, eyes focused and breath steaming in the cold night air.

He’d seen wolves before – or, more accurately, he’d seen a wolf before: Thoth. But Thoth, when he was pottering about in wolf form, was just as small, scruffy and clumsy as he was normally. He tended to blend in with Cy’s dogs, so much so that most of the guests assumed he was a harmless husky or something. But these wolves – these were real wolves. They stepped with purpose, their powerful bodies lean with winter’s hunger. One on its own would have been intimidating enough, but there were at least seven that Jacopo could see, and who knew how many more in the trees. He vaguely recalled watching a programme on National Geographic years ago about how wolves ambushed their prey, and glanced over his shoulder to check that no wolves were trying to creep up behind them.

The lead wolf (lead? Alpha? President??) stepped forward, its white coat glinting in a ghostly manner under the moon’s rays. And then, bizarrely, it talked.

“What do you think?” It - he - asked the rest of the pack, keeping his eyes fixed on Birch and Jacopo.

Jacopo felt his jaw slacken slightly. “They can talk,” he stated, a little numbly.

“Woah,” said one of the wolves – a very long-haired brown-grey one. “They can talk?!”

Some of the wolves muttered to each other. Jacopo felt like someone had just put his head on a rocket ship and sent it to Pluto. It sounded a lot like the wolves were speaking Italian – but how could that be? There were wolves up in the Italian Alps, but as far as Jacopo knew, none of them could talk. And while these wolves might be speaking Italian, they spoke it with a really weird accent. It sounded like… like a blend between Canadian and Russian? Or… Polish, maybe?

While Jacopo’s brain exploded, the wolves were continuing with a rather worrying conversation.

“We can still eat them if they talk,” a big black one was scoffing. “I ate my uncle.”

“Seems like a lot of hassle,” the brown-grey one pointed out, “look at the female. She’s got a weapon.”

“Yes,” Jacopo interrupted, trying not to think about the fact that he was inserting himself into a conversation between wolves about whether or not they should attack him. “We’re both armed. There are easier meals out there.”

The shaggy white wolf stared at him thoughtfully, his sharp yellow eyes surprisingly intelligent. He glanced sideways at their tent.

“Perhaps,” he said after a moment, and sat down. The other wolves took their cue from the white wolf and followed suit.

Jacopo inched slightly closer to Birch, hoping she had a better plan.