Ulf had produced a loaf from a saddlebag strapped to his horse. ‘Never go anywhere without a loaf of bread – makes every meal better,’ Ulf had pronounced, and Drem had to admit it had certainly made his bowl of stew much better as he ripped off a large chunk and soaked up the last of the thick gravy glistening with fat and onion juice at the bottom of his bowl.

‘Aye, it is, sure enough,’ Ulf said as he sat back and quaffed his mead, emptying the cup without taking a breath, then belched as long and loud as Drem had ever heard. His da filled Ulf’s cup and sipped some of his own. Night had fallen long since, a strong wind outside making timbers creak and sending the flames of the fire flickering and coiling as darkness pressed in upon them, making shadows dance and writhe on the walls.

‘Close to four hundred new souls living around the crater, I’d wager,’ Ulf said. ‘All of them arriving since you wandered off in the spring towards the Bonefells. Not that I’m complaining: they’ll all be after fur-lined boots and cloaks once they have a taste of winter up here.’

‘Any trappers like us?’ Drem asked.

‘Aye, a few. Not like you two, though,’ Ulf said. ‘Six moons living wild in the Bonefells, now that’s what I call commitment to the job. Most of the others have been back at least a moon, those that are coming back.’

‘Not everyone’s returned, then?’

‘No, Vidar and Sten are still out there, though they’re almost as insane as you two, so there’s still hope they’ve survived the Wild another season. Old Bodil isn’t back, either, which isn’t so good. Don’t expect to see him, now. He’s wintered eight years in Kergard, and he’s always back before the end of Reaper’s Moon.’ Ulf squinted at Olin through one eye, a sure sign that the mead was having some effect. ‘Didn’t see him on your travels?’

‘No. Not him nor any other soul,’ Olin replied.

Hope he’s all right, Drem thought. He liked Old Bodil, though most called him cantankerous and ill-tempered. Drem thought most of that was just straight talking, without any dressing.

‘Ah, well. He’ll not be the first trapper to end his days up in those mountains, or the last. Maybe he ran into the kin of the wolven that ended my trapping days. Course, I doubt they’d ever be as fierce a beast as I had the bad fortune to come across, roaming up in the high places.’