He let go of Drem’s wrist, just held his gaze. His looked grieved to say it, clearly knew the turmoil Drem was feeling over Fritha.

‘You’re right,’ Drem said, ‘it is logical. It does make sense. But . . . Fritha . . .’ He trailed off, unsure of what he meant or wanted, just knowing that he felt torn, emotions running through him that he was unable to put into words. He looked at his da, feeling as miserable and conflicted as he could ever remember.

His da sighed, nodded.

‘We’ll see this through,’ he said, ‘find Fritha . . .’

Alive or dead, Drem finished his da’s sentence.

‘And then we’ll be away, quick and quiet as we can,’ Olin added.

‘Thank you, Da,’ Drem said, relief washing through him. To give up on her now would feel wrong.

Olin took the lead, pushing on through the deepening snow. The hounds were silent now, and Drem could see no one to the left or right, only the snow, the constant flutter of it in his face. Olin’s eyes were on the foliage about them, branch and bush. He paused once, lifting leaves that had been snapped, scraped past; he marched on more quickly.

And then somewhere up ahead hounds were barking, a raucous baying, close, much closer than Drem would have thought, and he felt his heart lurch in his chest. He broke into a run, past his da, the sound of the hounds growing ever louder, deafening now, and changing, snarling, growling, snapping, a yelp and whine. Drem burst into a clearing, or, at least it was a clearing now, as a giant white bear had snapped branches, torn bushes up and uprooted trees in its violence against the hounds that had tracked it and brought it to bay.

There was blood on the snow, a hound crawling, whining, its back legs not working, another hound lying as still as stone, head twisted at a sickening angle. Others were circling the bear, snarling and snapping as the great beast growled and swiped at them with its huge scythe-like claws.

Where’s Fritha? Drem thought, looking about frantically for her, but he could see no sign of her. Hope drained from him.

It wouldn’t have left her alive in its den, or anywhere else. Dead and stored, more likely. He’d seen predators do it many times, hide their kill until they felt it was safe to retrieve it. He felt a rush of anger, rage like he’d never felt before.

I will kill you, bear, for what you’ve done.