Drem walked back from the paddocks, boots crunching on the fresh snow in his yard, up the steps of his cabin, where he stamped his feet and then into the warmth of home. Heat from the hearth washed his face as he shed his cloak and pulled gloves off with cold-stiff and clumsy hands.

His head felt as if it were packed with wool, so much had happened.

It was highsun now, though the sun wasn’t too clear in the sky outside, lurking somewhere behind thickening snow cloud that was rolling down from the north. It had taken almost half a day to deal with Calder’s corpse. Drem had taken Fritha and her hound back to their hold, the hound still breathing, last he’d seen it. Hask, Fritha’s grandfather, had started squawking at her like an old crow the moment Fritha set foot inside, remonstrating her for leaving without making his porridge.

‘Your granddaughter needs some looking after, herself,’ Drem had said to the old man. ‘She’s been through a hard morning. Could do with some care.’

‘What have you done to Surl!’ Hask had yelled at Drem, as the hound was in his arms at the time, Drem carrying it into their home and laying it upon a fur that Fritha ran and fetched.

‘Feed him up: red meat, milk, cheese,’ Drem had said to Fritha, choosing to ignore the barrage of abuse and accusations that frothed from Hask’s mouth. ‘He’s a strong animal, got heart to take off into the Wild like he did. And don’t listen to him,’ Drem had added quietly, a nod at her grandfather.

Sometimes age doesn’t mellow and soften, sometimes it twists and toughens, squeezing all the kindness out of a soul.

‘He’s not always like this,’ Fritha had said. ‘Worse in the mornings.’ She’d paused. ‘And the evenings.’

Drem had stood to leave, eager to get back to Olin.

Fritha had held his wrist as he made for the door.

‘There’s something about you, Drem ben Olin,’ she’d said.

‘There is?’ he’d said, not knowing in the slightest what she meant.

‘Yes.’ She’d nodded, stepping closer, and suddenly he had been very aware of the sheer blue of her eyes, the scatter of freckles across her cheeks and nose.

‘You’re different from other men.’

Am I? Is that good? Bad? How?

‘There’s an innocence to you, nothing asked or expected. And a loyalty.’ She had nodded to herself. ‘You’re a good friend to have, Drem, a rare find, and I’m grateful to you.’