The brook winds its way through the trees, gradually getting wider and louder as it is joined by other small tributaries. Agnes and Milo are hell-bent on moving forward, while Anna stops every two hundred yards in order to orientate herself. She doesn’t want them to go too close to the edge. She can’t see it because of the fog, but she knows it’s there. She thinks she has a pretty good handle on where they are. Nedanås itself is at the bottom of the north-western point of the ridge. It’s just under ten miles from the edge of the village to their house; right now they are walking along the ridge and away from Nedanås, which means they’re heading south-west. She tries to read her surroundings as Håkan taught her to do. Moss and lichen on the north side of the tree trunks, more downward-growing branches on the south side. She knows that anthills are almost always on the south side of a tree, but she can’t find any. After a while she realises this isn’t particularly surprising. There isn’t a single conifer, only tall deciduous trees with trunks like grey-green pillars, growing close together until they disappear among the sweeping veils of fog. The impression is eerie, almost ghostly.

They’re bound to find you, Håkan whispers without warning. You’re not safe, not even out here. You have to tell her. You promised me you would.

She shudders, shakes off the feeling and the voice in her head. After a few moments she manages to recapture her joy at the fact that she and Agnes are doing something together.

They continue alongside the brook, which gradually digs its way into the soft ground, creating a steep bank. Anna checks the time. Just after five, still another hour or so until dusk begins to fall, and yet it already seems as if the light is fading. The path slopes gently downwards, yet there is no sign of any rocks or changes in the terrain that match the painting. She is about to suggest they turn back when Milo suddenly starts barking loudly and agitatedly.

He’s found a big hole in the bank, and before they can stop him he is already halfway in. He carries on barking, and although the noise is slightly muffled by the earth, he sounds even more excited.

‘Milo, come here!’ Agnes shouts, but the dog ignores her. His back legs scrabble against the bank, and then he disappears completely into the hole. The barking is now joined by another noise, grunting followed by loud hissing that can’t possibly be coming from the little dog. ‘Milo!’ Agnes tries to make her way down to the hole, but loses her balance and falls. The bank is so steep that she rolls over and lands on her knees in the stream. ‘Shit!’