“That’s true,” Lala said. “But I can dig. I’m fast. I can sneak into Fox’s territory and see where the old badger set snares—he’s gone now. There might be forgotten caches.”

No one laughed. No one helped her either.

That night, they ate a thin but honest stew. Badger gave Lala the first bowl. She didn’t grab it. She bowed her head and said, “Thank you.”

Lala lay in the dust, cold and ashamed. For the first time, she realized: Being wicked hadn’t made her powerful. It had made her alone.