FOURTEEN
Looking down from her tree branch perch into the darkness below, Melitta repeated Sir George's words in her head. It wasn't a bad plan. It wasn't.
Then why did she feel like there were snakes writhing in her belly?
She shifted again, searching in vain for a comfortable spot on the hard tree branch. There was the trap, made of timber hastily nailed together this afternoon. It was barely visible in the moonlight now. The earthy smell of truffles and mushrooms filled the air, hopefully enough to entice the boar into the trap. If that bait wasn't enough, it sat at the foot of an oak tree, amid the remains of a century's worth of acorns.
Even Sir George had said the bait should be sufficient, but after several hours of sitting out here in the cold dark, Melitta wondered if perhaps
