Lann scrambled up into the arms of the tree, pulling himself up out of the way of the predator. Belly down on a branch, the boy looked back down into the black, dead eyes of the creature. The wolf seemed to be contemplating its options as it prowled back and forth. Stopping directly below him, the beast sunk down as low as it could, and, as Lann watched in horrified disbelief, leaped high into the air.

Lann jerked backwards. The wolf’s teeth snapped shut inches away from his face, close enough for him to smell the fetid stink of its breath. The enormity of the leap, coupled with the near-success of the attack caused Lann to pull away too quickly. His bare foot slipped on the mossy branch he was on, and, with his hands desperately clawing at nothing, he fell backwards out of the tree.

When the back of his head connected with an old tree stump jutting out of the ground, the world went black. He was not unconscious, but the silvery moonlight and shadowy half-light of the forest were replaced by an inky void.

Getting to his hands and knees he tried to stand, but the swirling in his head and his blindness made it impossible, and he collapsed back down again.

Lann sensed the beast moving in for the kill. Consumed with fear, he let out a despairing moan, knowing that death at the jaws of the creature was inevitable.

It was then that he heard the harsh caw of the crow again, followed by the fluttering noise of its wings as it landed close to his side. There was a moment’s pause, and the boy had the distinct impression that the bird was no longer a bird. A thing much larger was standing over him now. There was a snarl, followed by the sound of leaves moving as the wolf pounced, and then an intense feeling of heat, so hot it made the boy cry out.

Something large fell to the floor a short distance away and the air was filled with the rank smell of burnt flesh and fur.

The leafy carpet close to his head stirred again and Lann threw out an arm in the direction of the sound, his fingers grasping hold of the hem of a heavy woollen cloak. ‘Help me,’ he managed.

The sounds of the forest changed then. What had been the brushing of leaves and wind in the branches overhead was replaced with whispering noises. Words in a tongue so alien it made him shiver to hear them come from all directions at once. They were angry, those whispers, angry that death had been allowed to come to this forest again.

‘Please … help me,’ he croaked.

The last thing he remembered was a woman’s voice. The voice was strained, as if it were only with immense effort that the stranger was able to talk.