‘We had been told about our wild relatives, but we were careless,’ Seven said. ‘And I suppose we didn’t want to believe that they were as crazy as we had been taught. What naive and hopeful fools we were, when I look back. It’s a wonder I wasn’t killed too.’

Seven had been six years old when he had escaped, a young adolescent – like natives, bears matured more quickly than humans – with no skill at hunting or fighting. After his friend was killed he continued to travel north as best he could, making long diversions to avoid his feral cousins, living mostly on roots and berries, lost and lonely and afraid. And then he stumbled onto the territory of an old female bear, and his luck changed.

‘I’m sure that she would have killed me if she could,’ he said, ‘but she was suffering from a wasting disease, was too sick and feeble to do me any harm, and grew steadily weaker and ever more dependent on me. I took care of her, and in turn she taught me about her people. Their language, their history, how they lived. It was an unexpected kindness, and a great gift. Our keepers, you see, did not teach us the language of my people, or anything about their culture and history. We were told only that we were descendants of a brutal civilisation which had fallen from grace with the Mother, the first to be raised up since that fall. We had to pray to the Mother every day, thanking Her for Her generosity and mercy. Our keepers claimed that they were redeeming and educating us, but they would not allow us to be ourselves.’

He was looking at Goodwill, who said, with a snap of indignation, ‘I cannot apologise for something I knew nothing about.’

‘I don’t suppose you can,’ Seven said evenly. ‘Just as you can’t apologise for hunting my people like animals, killing them or driving them to these marginal lands of the frigid far north. A wilderness that’s so cold in winter we have to sleep through most of it, or else starve or freeze to death. A country that is ours only until you decide that you need it. And when you do, we’ll be driven even further north, until there is nowhere else to go. And what then? Will you put the last of us in cages, or will you get up the courage to finally erase us?’

‘We have to protect ourselves. Most bears are not like you, after all.’

‘No, they are not. Our civilisation fell more than six hundred years ago, but until now there has been no attempt to help or rehabilitate us. No forgiveness or reconciliation.’

‘There was little to save. Your ancestors were bloodthirsty monsters who enslaved us.’