Just then, Ludwig grabbed her by the back of her collar and pulled her back. The grip was firm and quick, then released the instant she halted, as if the touch itself were distasteful to him and only the result mattered.
She was about to let out a sting of curses at being 'handled' The breath for it lifted into her throat, hot and ready.
"Watch your steps," he said. His tone did not rise. It flattened to carry only instruction. He tipped his chin toward her feet.
Looking down, there was a fine wire where she was about to step, and then he pointed up, a log of spikes was hidden inside the trees, if the wire was triggered, she would have gotten impaled right there and then. The wire had been rubbed with ash to kill its shine and threaded through a pair of fungus shelves to hide its line. Above, the deadfall rested in a cradle of vine, points dark with old sap. The trap smelled of old sweat and iron, the scent of human hands that had worked in haste and then waited.
