With an act of will he reached out and grabbed one of the stones upon the cairn, covered in a thick skin of snow and ice, and pulled it off. It resisted a moment, its mortar of rime binding it, but then with a crack it was free. He turned and placed the stone carefully upon the ground. Then another, and another. Soon sweat drenched him as he laboured, removing rock after rock, until he saw a hint of wool and a gleam of pallid flesh. He stopped then, a groan escaping his lips. But he was committed to the act, now, and must see it through.

Until, finally, his da’s body was exposed to the light. A faint smell of damp and rot drifted up to him, though thankfully the snow and ice had made that far better than it otherwise would have been. His hand shaking, Drem reached out and pulled back the cloak, revealing his da’s head and torso. He let out a strangled sob, took another handful of moments to catch his breath and hold his courage. He had cleaned his da as best he could, that night in the forest. His da’s face was a bloodless grey, now, pale as winter’s morning. Drem ripped his eyes away, looking to his task, and gazed at the wounds raked across his da’s chest. He lifted his right hand, fingers curled like a claw, and in slow motion followed the path of the wounds upon his da. One terrible claw swipe, from right to left, high to low, starting at his da’s left shoulder, ending at his right hip, destroying everything in between. Drem paused, thinking, tried the same motion in reverse, up from the hip to shoulder.

No. Not that. It couldn’t have been that. The flesh is tattered and torn in the other direction. It must have been its right paw, slashing down, from right to left.

He stared at it.

And then he lifted a hand to the claw about his own neck, gripping it tight and he swayed a little as the truth hit him.

Because the wound upon his da’s chest was given by a bear with five claws, and the white bear only had four.

Drem reined in his horse before Asger’s house. It was on the outskirts of Kergard, a sturdy cottage of wattle and daub with a grass-sod roof, a side gate and track running between house and barn. Drem heard the creak and roll of wheels and saw Asger emerge from the barn, sitting upon the bench of a heavily loaded wain, reins in hand, his wife and bairns snuggled up close to him. There could have been a dozen more of them wrapped beneath the folds of blankets and furs they were buried beneath, guarding them against the dawn cold.

Asger smiled when he saw him, reining in the two sturdy ponies that were pulling the wain.