Ninety-nine, one hundred, and then he was chopping down, right to left in one smooth, fluid movement, a hiss of air as the blade passed through it. ‘Lightning strike,’ he murmured, holding that for another count of a hundred, then a powerful stab up with boar’s tusk, into his imaginary foe’s belly, holding that, then slowly, methodically moving through the forms of the sword dance that his da had taught him, muscles and tendons shifting gradually from burning to trembling to exhaustion, sweat beading his brow amidst the snow and ice, his breath a mist about him.

When he’d finished, he practised sheathing his sword in one move, so far proving harder to master than most forms in the dance. He swore as he cut his thumb, again, and looked around to see not only the two goats but also the chickens standing around the yard, staring at him.

‘Not funny,’ he muttered at them, then, at the rumble of hooves, shifted his gaze to look out of his hold’s gates, seeing riders approaching down the track.

‘We’re going to kill that white bear,’ Ulf said, looking down at Drem from the back of his horse. Hildith and a score of her lads were with her.

‘If you’re wanting some payback for your da, you’re welcome to join us,’ she said to him, sympathy in her eyes softening the hardness in her face.

Drem rubbed his chin, surprised at how long his stubble of beard had grown. He’d already gone to Ulf and told him that the white bear had not killed his da, that it had been a different bear.

Ulf hadn’t believed him.

‘We all saw the bear, lad. We fought it in that glade,’ Ulf had said to him. ‘Many didn’t leave the glade breathing because of it. Of course it was the white bear that killed your da.’

Drem had told Ulf his reasoning, but Ulf had baulked at the idea of digging up Olin’s body and inspecting his wounds.

‘Disrespectful,’ he’d said, looking at Drem with a little horror and a lot of disgust in his eyes. ‘Don’t need to go digging up a corpse that’s been buried a ten-night, anyhow. Think about it. A swipe with the other paw, a different angle than you remember in your mind.’ Ulf shrugged. ‘It was fast, confusing, and you had a crack on your head, Drem. Easy to make a mistake. Now stop spouting your nonsense theory like it’s fact, and go sharpen your spear. We’ll hunt that white bear down soon enough.’

Drem had known better than to argue, knowing how men got that look in their eyes and tilt to their head when a discussion had gone past the facts and somehow turned in their minds into a question of who was cleverest, wisest, strongest, most skilled, whatever.

So Drem had just sighed and left.