‘I . . . am . . . fit,’ Dath said, looking more hurt than angry.

‘Followed?’ Coralen said.

‘Aye. I dropped back because I spied a doe pass us. Thought it would make a change from brot. I hunted it a while.’

‘He is very good at that,’ Kulla said.

‘I thought I saw something,’ Dath said.

‘Saw what?’

‘A glint of iron behind us.’

Coralen waited.

She had left Enkara to scout ahead and sped back past the long column of their warband, strung out over a league of forest, then carried on a little for good measure, gathering a few of her scouts along the way. Dath and Kulla were with her, along with Teca, the woman Coralen had saved from the Kadoshim in the woods of northern Narvon. She had the makings of a fine huntswoman. Yalric, one of Gramm’s warriors who had survived the battle of the hold, was with them too. And Storm, of course.

The wolven was crouched beside her now, both of them sitting in thick foliage upon an embankment, the rest of Coralen’s hunters spread loosely on the far side of the path. They’d been here maybe half a day, the glow of the sun above the trees steadily drifting westwards, waiting for whoever it was that Dath had spied. She rested her head against Storm’s shoulder.

‘I am glad you are healed,’ she whispered, tweaking one of Storm’s ears. The wolven had limped for a ten-night after her run-in with the bear at Gramm’s hold, ribs bruised, maybe cracked. She was brave, though, tougher than any warrior Coralen had known, and had loped on day after day, league after league. Coralen had seen Corban’s concerned looks, and had felt the same way, but one day Storm had uncurled from sleep, stretched and just seemed fine again. Coralen had felt a weight lift from her shoulders that she hadn’t realized had been there.

Can’t believe how soft I’m getting. Rath would be ashamed.

She felt a vibration and realized that Storm was growling quietly. She sat up, reaching slowly for her strung bow, half a dozen arrow shafts stuck into the earth before her. The odd ray of sunshine sloped into the forest from the west, motes of dust suspended in the amber glow.

‘Easy,’ she whispered to Storm, half-nocking an arrow, then concentrated on staying as still as possible. She focused on her breathing, as Rath had taught her, long, deep breaths, hold, slow release, over and over. Just when she thought Storm must have heard something else, there was a sound off to her left, a crackle of forest litter. Then, quiet but clear as the tree before her, a whispered conversation. Her skin prickled.

Dath was right.