‘Oi,’ Rafe called, ‘here now!’ But he knew it was too late for Sniffer; he had the scent and was for the time being deaf in the joy of his euphoric chase. Scratcher broke through the shrub as Rafe reached him and, being closer, was called to heel.

‘Come on, boy, we’ll catch them together.’

They hurried across the meadow, Rafe splashing across the stream, Scratcher crossing it in a single bound. The ground became spongy underfoot, more streams dissecting the land, thick clumps of marsh grass appearing.

Don’t like this much – soon we’ll be wading into a bog. The thick smell of peat and stagnant water was filling the air. Rafe put his fingers to his lips and whistled, high and shrill. He paused and listened.

Nothing.

He whistled again; this time heard a bark. Looking about, he saw that the ground rose. He headed towards it and climbed a slight incline, realizing that it was an old road, wide, crumbling stone worn and broken by years of attrition, frost and thaw, root and rain. Must be giant-made, like the giantsway back home. He whistled again, walking on, keeping to this high ground. He saw a streak of grey, Sniffer weaving back to him, something lolling between his jaws.

He caught the hare, then. Good boy.

Rafe stood on the old road with Scratcher and waited, Sniffer making his way through a landscape of glistening streams and pools, edged by strips of blackthorn and dogwood. Willows grew here and there, great curtains of branches draping the ground. In a pool a heron stood tall and still, silhouetted by the sun.

Sniffer was almost back to them when he seemed to stumble and fall. Beside Rafe Scratcher whined.

Sniffer tried to climb to his feet, but couldn’t, as if something had reached out from beneath the ground and had gripped him in a fist of iron.

A bog. He’s fallen into a bog.

Rafe ran down the embankment, stumbling, almost falling, saw the shift from solid to marsh just in time. Black mud was erupting about Sniffer as he thrashed, his great bulk heaving and bucking in the viscous soil, but the more he struggled, the quicker he sank.

‘It’s all right, boy. I’m here, I’m here,’ Rafe called out. Not surprisingly the words didn’t have any effect on Sniffer as he writhed, only his head and shoulders visible now, eyes rolling white in panic. Scratcher paced the edge of land and marsh, whining frantically.