Meg emerged from the reeds and ran to him, throwing her arms about his waist, hugging him tight. He ruffled her hair.

‘You did good, girlie, think I might just owe you my life, there.’

‘There’s no think about it,’ she said, grinning up at him.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

HAELAN

Haelan searched the stables, Pots running at his heels, his tail wagging furiously. He looked inside every single stall – and there were literally hundreds of them, over half of them occupied with horses.

She won’t be in one of those. He slammed another door shut, frowning. An empty one. By the time he reached the last stable he was sweating, despite the cold that seemed to seep through even walls of stone.

Winter is upon us. It was the Snow Moon and winter was holding Drassil in its tight and frozen grip.

Where is she?

He was looking for Storm, had overheard Corban talking of his wolven, how she was heavy with cubs, and if the birth cycle for a wolven was anything like a hound’s then she should be whelping any day now. And then she’d disappeared.

She’s in her den, ready to whelp, Coralen had said to Corban.

Haelan had been running chores in Cywen’s hospice, a huge building situated to the west of the fortress, close to the herb gardens that grew within the walls. Coralen had been sitting beside one of the Jehar, a dark-haired woman lying in a cot with her leg in a splint and bandages. Slowly the conversation had drifted towards Storm, and the fact that she was missing.

That’s what I thought, Corban had said. I need to find her. I remember Da helping a bitch whelp; there can be all kinds of problems.

Corban had sounded so worried that Haelan had decided on the spot that he would find Storm and her den, and had been searching ever since.

He left the stables disappointed; he’d been convinced they would make the perfect hideaway for Storm, and began to wander the fortress aimlessly.

I’ll never find her in this place. Someone could hide for a moon, every single person here searching for them.

Slowly he walked through ancient stone streets, past windows with the glow of warm fires filling them, then through courtyards and streets with empty buildings and dark windows. He pulled his cloak tighter about him, his breath misting, before eventually stopping in a courtyard.

He sat on a huge twisted root that broke through the stone of the courtyard like the spine of a great sea beast and fished around in his pockets for some food. He found half a biscuit, broke it, throwing half to Pots, then chewed on the rest.