‘Hildith’s mead-hall – that way.’ Drem pointed, then he headed back to the market.

There were new faces everywhere, some amongst the traders, but mostly those who were walking the market streets looking to buy rather than sell. Olin was talking to a stall holder about it when Drem returned.

‘Feels crowded for the north,’ Olin was saying.

‘Aye,’ the trader said, Asger, a short, round man, his forearms so hairy Drem could hardly see the skin beneath. ‘Lots of new faces in Kergard, holds springing up all over. And there’s that mine on the north shore of the lake. A few faces have disappeared, though.’ He leaned closer to Olin, glancing left and right. ‘I don’t mean packed up and moved on. I mean gone. Just vanished. If it was all newcomers I’d put it down to them not respecting a winter in the north. But it’s some of the townsfolk, too, ones that have been here years, like Hakon and his brood. They’re gone. Cattle still in the barn, all their belongings still there.’

He tugged on a bushy beard.

‘I’ve heard wolven howling at night. Maybe a pack’s come down from the Bonefells . . .’

‘Could be,’ Olin said, looking thoughtful.

‘Not complaining about the newcomers,’ Asger continued. ‘It’s good for business. Though sometimes it’s not.’ Asger looked both ways and leaned close again, dropping his voice. ‘Thieving’s becoming a problem. Was a time when I didn’t need to lock my barn doors. Wouldn’t dream of leaving them open, now. It’s those new miners. Not the same as good, honest trappers, if you ask me.’

Drem snorted. He’d met many a trapper that would have happily put a knife in his back to take his furs, a few had tried, though his da had taught them the error of that decision.

‘Though they’ve hired their own trappers to keep them fed and clothed. They’re more like thieves, I reckon.’

Drem would have liked to stay and hear more, but his da loaded him up with a barrel of apples and so he trudged back to the wain. He thought about what Asger had said, about thieving, thought about those men near the wain and resolved to wait there until his da was finished in the market.

As he turned a corner and the wain came into view he saw a woman in the street, pale yellow hair revealed as the hood of a cloak blew back in the wind. It was Fritha, his new neighbour, a large basket of latticed willow hooked over one arm. She didn’t see Drem, as she looked to someone calling out to her: Wispy Beard, part of the group of trappers and miners that Drem had seen.

‘Need some help with that?’ Wispy said, stepping close to Fritha.