We emerge into a clearing made by a fallen tree. The remaining foliage has grown gingerly up and outwards, and as the light pours down, the fur of moss and the pale scales of lichen make the low, twisting branches look like creatures. In the clearing is a tent and a fire, besides which sit Tanya and Solomon. They look at us with wide eyes as we enter their dwelling. There is a pause, and then they stand up and, to my overwhelming relief, Tanya pulls me to her in a crushing hug.

“I have so much to tell you,” I whisper into her shoulder. “Gull is fine, she’s safe.” Please let this be true. “But I couldn’t bring her with me.”

She hushes me.

“You can tell me everything, Leora.”

The smell of woodsmoke and Tanya’s hair makes me feel like I’m coming home. To one of my homes, at least.

Oscar ties the horses up and Mel looks at us as though she is ready to back away and run – her fingers clasp, knuckles white, and her breath is quick. I suppose I thought she would be regal even here, that she would walk into Featherstone, head up, back so straight, and remove her cloak in a sweeping flow, revealing her full colours. But she is shrunken in the forest; she looks at the blank skin of Tanya and Solomon and I see her swallow back years of ingrained fear and disgust.

It’s Tanya who moves.

“You are welcome.” She holds out both hands to Mel. “I am Tanya, this is Solomon – and Oscar, obviously, you know. Leora is a daughter to us. Seeing Leora return is wonderful; seeing her return with a friend is even better.”

Tanya’s kindness is a lasting thing – like the north star or the frost in winter, you can rely on it to be there. A lump grows in my throat and I duck my head, thinking of her children, in Saintstone. One in a cell and the other … I don’t know where. But safe, Longsight told me she would be safe.

Mel kneels on the floor before Tanya. She takes Tanya’s hands, dips her head and says, “My name is Mel. I’m here as a friend. Thank you for your welcome.” Only I can tell what effort it costs her. I see the White Witch on the storyteller’s skin and imagine her cursing Mel for her treachery.

“We don’t have much,” Solomon says, to Mel and to me, and he gestures at the scraps of blankets and rolled bedding that they are using to sit on around the fire. “But what we have we share. Come, sit down. You must be thirsty?”

Solomon boils water over the fire and brings us a kind of tea made with yellow leaves. Although it’s bitter, it is invigorating. Mel sips at hers cautiously. Mel: always given the best of everything when it comes to food and drink. I don’t suppose she’s ever had to force something down to be polite or simply to survive.