‘This did,’ Trigg said. Even though Haelan wasn’t sure what he thought of Trigg, whether he trusted her or not, he didn’t doubt her on this matter. All knew that she spent much of her absences from the hold in Forn Forest, and to do that and survive meant you knew a fair bit about the ways of the forest, including its inhabitants. Trigg was standing beside a huge paw print, as big as a pewter plate, claw marks gouging the earth.

‘What does that belong to?’

‘A bear,’ Trigg said with a frown. ‘They don’t often wander south of the river.’

‘This one did,’ Tahir said, crouching beside another dead wolven. ‘What happened here?’

‘Think a wolven pack set its sights on the wrong meal,’ Trigg muttered. ‘They’re smaller than usual. Maybe a young pack that made the wrong choice?’

Haelan slipped from his saddle, something compelling him to take a closer look. His hand fumbled at his belt, reaching for his eating-knife. Trigg chuckled and held out her hatchet – Swain’s hatchet.

‘That’s yours,’ Haelan said.

‘I know. Which means I can loan it to who I like.’ She offered it again. ‘It would be more use than that pin.’

Haelan took it with a nod, liking the weight of it in his hand.

‘Looks like the bear ran off this way,’ one of the other men said. He was standing before a gaping hole in the underbrush, taller and wider than a large man. It led into darkness.

‘Should we hunt it?’ someone suggested.

‘Don’t be a fool. Five wolven tried that. Best off getting back to the women and bairns,’ someone else said.

Haelan was looking at each wolven, just piles of flesh, bone and fur now. They all bore great rents upon their bodies, marks of claw and tooth.

‘Come on, lad,’ Tahir said, lifting Haelan back onto his saddle.

‘Think you should look at this,’ Trigg said. She was squatting beside one of the dead wolven, claw marks exposing its ribs.

Tahir strode over to her and crouched to inspect the wound.

‘Not that,’ Trigg said. ‘This.’ She lifted the wolven’s head, exposing a huge cut in its neck, the head almost severed.

‘That’s a clean cut. Tooth and claw didn’t do that,’ Trigg said. ‘Looks more like an axe-blade to me.’

The feast-hall was full that night. A summer storm had swept in from the north and Haelan’s cloak was soaked through. Outside, wind howled and thunder rumbled. Haelan heard the phrase ‘dark omen’ muttered more than once as he sat with Tahir and a few other warriors. Pots was begging for scraps by his feet. He dropped a chunk of bread to the dog, his hand wandering to the hatchet at his belt – Trigg had told him to look after it for him. I don’t understand Trigg. She’s confusing.