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Translated from the Dutch by the author The afternoon smells of wet moss, of burrowing mice, of danger. Beneath the berry bush, where the clingy sweetness of a dead raccoon lingers, worms are digging deeper into the dirt. The wind whirls and whips, snapping branches of the spear trees, carrying an unfamiliar rumble into the valley. Stay low—that’s the way to do it. And if it comes to it: flatten the ears, bare the teeth. For at the bottom of the hill, Man lives. Keep away. She stands with her back against the wall, right beside the taped-up window. If