I slip off a glove and run my fingers over the feather in my pocket, but there’s no sizzle. My fingers might as well be sausages.

What if Mum isn’t here? What if I misunderstood the sizzle I felt back at Meredith’s table? And, worst of all, what if Meredith’s awful suggestion is true, and Mum actually meant to leave me and Dad behind?

I trudge on, a heavy, leaden feeling in my chest. When the snow starts filling my boots, I realise that at least I can do something about that.

I flick through the dictionary. ‘Swyn, todda’r eira ’na! I say, pointing at the road in front of me. Meltthat snow! There’s a rushing sensation through my body, and the snow disappears. Why didn’t I think of this before? Why didn’t I do it when we were driving?

I lay a hand on the earth at the side of the road and receive a pulse of energy, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. Then I’m struck by a terrible thought. What if I have just broken a law? No, surely not. I haven’t stopped the snow falling. I’ve simply … changed its form.

After more than an hour’s walking, I catch a whiff of woodsmoke and come upon a sign: Llanwydir. I’m here. But still no sizzle.

Buildings line the left side of the road, their doors opening straight onto the footpath. All the windows are dark. No-one in Llanwydir is awake at two in the morning, it seems. On the right is a low stone fence and, down a steep bank, a gurgling river.

A dozen parked cars look like huge animals curled under white blankets, and it’s completely quiet except for a snuffle on the road behind me. I turn and spot a low shadow and bushy tail.

‘Hello,’ I say. The fox nods back. Its ears are larger than I imagined, and so pointy. It heads off down the road, then looks back at me. Come, I hear in my mind. The fox leads me down a lane to a line of houses, all squashed together, their roofs topped with a thick layer with snow. There’s a bright light in one window.

‘This one?’ I say. I take a deep breath. Courage. The fox watches me as I walk up the snowy path and knock.

I am about to knock again when the door opens a crack. A woman’s kind face peers out. ‘Oh, my goodness, you must be frozen,’ she says and flings the door open. ‘Come in, come in.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, stepping into the warm, narrow hallway. ‘I’ve been in a car accident and my friend is hurt and still in the car.’

‘Oh dear,’ she says. ‘And where is that?’

‘Out of town that way.’ I point. ‘I’m also hoping you can help me find Carys. She’s a midwife.’