He was totally exhausted – numb and bone-weary – and would have to lie down and doze soon or he thought he might pass out.

It was still drizzling, or at least heavily misting, and he went back to the fire, added still more firewood and green material to generate smoke, then set about making a shelter.

The canoe he had turned upside down and he now propped one end on a large boulder so it formed a kind of narrow lean-to. Along the sides of the tipped-up canoe he placed pieces of wood, jammed into the gravel and pushing up against the upside-down edge. All this to keep the canoe from rolling over if a wind came up. When it was secure, he put his blanket and gear beneath the canoe, spread the blanket – which was damp but not soaked – and positioned it so part of it was tucked in under the stern, which was resting directly on the gravel, and made a serviceable bed.

Another look to the fire, adding still more wood and green leaves and grass, and he crawled under the canoe, lay on half the blanket, pulled the other half over himself, and was asleep in little more than moments.

A dream. He dreamed of Little Carl who was not dead but somehow alive, dancing a step-dance schottische around the fire while the men laughed and clapped in rhythm to his steps. His legs were too short to make the dance work right – especially the hopping part – but nobody cared and the little boy was laughing and suddenly Leif’s mother was there. In the dream she was tall and straight and had long hair but he could not see her face, wanted her to turn so he could see what she looked like, wanted to move around in the dream to see her, know more about her. But it was not to work. Little Carl kept dancing while the men clapped the step-tune and the dream became not so happy. Grated on his thinking.

And he jerked awake, opened his eyes in irritation because he had not been able to see his mother’s face and immediately discovered once more that he was not alone.

Ravens were there, around the fire and the drying rack. The flames were nearly gone and only a trickle of smoke went up through the meat, and the ravens sat around the fireplace and drying rack like a bunch of old men. Feathers fluffed to avoid the mist, waiting for the smoke to be completely gone so they could hit the meat on the drying strips.

‘Aaargh!’ Leif grunt-growled and pitched a rock at the ravens. None were hit and they only slightly startled at the bouncing stone and his sudden growl, and didn’t fly off but simply dodged out of the way.