Pilgrim said that he would visit his grandfather as soon as he could, and asked after his mother’s health, thinking that without Bearbane to speak for his cause it would be much harder to win her over.

Blessed reached for the flask. ‘Let’s just say that becoming a grandmother hasn’t softened her. One more round to celebrate your return, and then we’ll find out what’s being dished for supper.’

When he set out the next day, mounted on one of the sturdy piebald maras bred for the territory, Pilgrim reckoned that he had time to visit the Elders’ Lodge before heading towards the Hearth and the meeting with his mother. Find out how bad things were with Bearbane. Whether his worst fears were justified.

He followed a road above the long reach of the lake and cut north and west, riding up through a scant forest of stunted yellowwoods, passing the haven where newly handfasted couples spent their first Season together, the traditional grassy mounds of the burrows scattered amongst trees and stands of fern and bamboo, their chimneys smokeless and windows shuttered. Pilgrim rode on, the paws of his mara, shod in wood-soled boots, padding soundlessly over soft layers of fallen needles. Small birds winged through sunlight and shadow between the trees or sang from unseen perches. High in the blank blue sky an ossifrage hung on outspread wings, turning in slow circles as it scried the land below. Everything he had run away from. Everything he missed.

The Elders’ Lodge was a cluster of log-walled, turf-roofed cabins set on a broad apron near the treeline. A hot spring burbled amongst white rocks, feeding a stream that dropped away in a series of pools and small waterfalls; paths wandered amongst clumps of birch and gardens of rock and raked gravel. Pilgrim sat on a bench, shivering a little in the cool air, while one of the carers fetched Bearbane. His grandfather was somewhat shrunken, dressed like the other residents in a blue shift and padded woollen trews and his good eye (the other had been lost when he’d faced down a berserker that had torn free of its trap) was frosted by a cataract, but he seemed amiable and alert. Caressing Pilgrim’s face and hands with his fingertips, saying that it had been far too long since his last visit.

‘I’ve been living in Highwater Reach, Grandfather. Working for your old friend Master Able.’