We get closer to the wood and a funny feeling comes over me, the same as when that poxy Conmael and his cronies were around. I look at Blackthorn, but she’s walking on as usual, lost in her own thoughts. Probably thinking it’ll be good to stop moving at last. We’ve walked through the best part of summer. Soon those trees will be turning all colours, their leaves like a beautiful big fire. As red as that hair of hers. Seems like this might be the right sort of spot for her, funny feeling or not.

We reach the trees, all kinds, some I know the names of and some I’ve never seen before. Strikes me as odd how quiet it is in there. Even the birds aren’t chirping much, though it’s a sunny day. One step ahead, the path will be in shadow. And something tells me I don’t want to take that step.

‘What?’ says Blackthorn, but she’s stopped walking. We stand there looking ahead along the path into Dreamer’s Wood. Little branching foot track goes off on the right, just wide enough for one person to walk. You wouldn’t go that way with a horse and cart or a herd of cows. It’s a slow, up and down, in and out sort of track. Thing is, though, it doesn’t go through the wood, but around the edge of it, in sunlight. Might be the path to the cottage, might not. But if we follow it, sooner or later we’ll get there. That’s what I’m thinking, but I don’t say any of it. She’s the one in charge.

‘This way,’ Blackthorn says, backing up and taking the smaller path. ‘No need to go into the wood.’ Then, dropping her voice as if she thinks someone else might be listening, ‘Did you feel it?’

‘Felt something. Don’t know what it was.’

‘Mm. Well, let’s find this wretched cottage.’

We walk on a bit, and I hear birds singing in the fields, see them too, picking over the remains of a barley crop. But if there are birds in the wood, they’re staying quiet. Scared of the place, maybe, same as I am, though I’m not going to tell her that. Not much use as a minder if I fall into a jelly over something I can’t even see; something I can’t put a name to. Dreamer’s Wood. Wonder who the dreamer was and what happened to him?

‘Quiet in there,’ says Blackthorn.

‘Mm.’

‘Makes a change from that place. No shouting. Not even chirping. Peaceful.’

I don’t say anything.

‘The silence might take a bit of getting used to,’ she says.