He heard a far-off rumble of thunder, but the drum of drips on the woodway above had finally stopped. A pigeon warbled softly somewhere to his left. The men must have gone. But Ark still didn’t move, curled up among the jumble of pipes and tubes. He wasn’t sure that he could and he felt no satisfaction in having fooled his pursuers. After all, from now on, he might just as well be dead. His throat was dry and he felt like he’d been turned inside out.

If anyone had been watching, they would have seen what looked like a bundle of rags wrapped tightly around the scaffolding. Ten slow minutes passed before the bundle gradually began to separate into moving limbs. Ark unfolded and shakily pulled himself upright. He had to bend sideways to avoid knocking his head on any pipes. At waist height, a zinc-lined aqueduct ran either side of him on the underside of the branch. Water. He climbed closer, scooped his hands into the clear liquid and lifted it to his lips. As he straightened up, two pairs of identical eyes stared back at him.

Flippin’ fungus! he cursed silently. Just what he needed!

Admittedly, it was the perfect spot: tucked out of the way with a plentiful supply of refreshment, the woodway above a convenient waterproof roof. He should have noticed that what looked like a haphazard pile of twigs was, in fact, artfully woven around the pipes, but his mind had been on other matters.

The two baby ravens continued staring at Ark as they opened their beaks and screeched. But the word baby in no way described these creatures, their claws already able to slice to the bone with one swipe, and beaks capable of cracking a puny Dendran skull like a walnut. Each of the fledglings was half as big as Ark and if these were the tiddlers … he shuddered to think about their parents.

Ark checked his arm. The rope burn all the way up the skin of his upper arm had begun to weep. There was a small beading of blood: all that was needed as scent to draw a keen hunter. Very bad. He looked and smelled like dinner on a twig.

“Hello, little birdies,” Ark murmured. “No need to cry.”

But to them he knew he was simply edible-looking prey, just feet away from their nest. They didn’t want soothing words, they wanted Mommy. Now! Especially as Mommy could turn this intruder into din-din!

“Hush there!” Ark tried, but he might as well have told the sun not to get up that morning. Frantically, he attempted to lick the blood from his arm while looking for a way back up onto the branch line. Could he risk it? Did he have any choice? The ravens’ screeching was getting louder and they’d begun flapping excitedly. Once they’d got the scent of injury and weakness, it was almost pointless even thinking about escape.