Kenny said this in a matter‑of‑fact way, but that just made it more funny, and it was ages before I could finish the story, about how the Greeks only won because they hid inside a giant wooden horse, and the Trojans dragged the horse inside the city. And then the Greeks sneaked out in the night and burned the city down. They killed nearly all the Trojans and took back Helen.

“What did they take the horse into their city for?” said Kenny. “That were stupid. They should have looked inside it. They should have set it on fire.”

And I didn’t really have an answer for that.

Next I told Kenny about King Arthur and his knights, and how they spent all their time fighting each other and rescuing ladies from castles. I said how loads of them died looking for some cup full of Jesus’s blood. And at the end there was a great battle, and Arthur’s son was in charge of the baddies, and Arthur killed him but got a mortal wound himself. I told him that Arthur went off to die on an island, but he might not have, and he might be coming back with all his men when we need him most, shining like gold.

Ten

Ten

As we’d walked our way through the stories, the landscape changed. It was almost as if the world was changing to fit in with the stories. First a few bushes and tiny tree saplings began to line the banks of the stream. Then the banks on both sides rose up, so that the stream was below us – except it was even more like a river now. Then trees grew around and over us, and that was good because we were more sheltered from the snow and the wind. The trees were mainly bare, but if you looked closely you could see buds beginning to emerge – tight fists of life waiting to open out into a green hand.

Not so good was the fact it was getting dark. We hadn’t seen the sun all day, just rainy greyness turning into snowy greyness. So it wasn’t as if you could see the sun sinking, or even sense it. It was just like one of those dimmer switches, with someone gradually turning the lights down.

“Why aren’t we there yet?” Kenny asked.

“Won’t be long. The river will cross the path in a few minutes, and before you know it, it’ll be chip‑butty time.”

Just then the bank we were on took a turn upwards, and the stream fell even further below. The sound of the water deepened into a roar, and big rocks barged out from the surface. There were no still parts of the river, and everything was white. We walked on. I looked across at the other bank and saw that the stream had carved a canyon, and the walls were shining rock.