A log cracked, jolting him from his reverie. For one moment he thought he saw the body twitch. A stray gust of wind, exploring the edge of the bear pelt, he reassured himself. But then a groan came from the scaffold, followed by a low keening. The wind again, trying to find a path through the gaps in the bark, he reasoned.

That was when he noticed a dark object resembling a bird’s wing outlined at one edge of the platform. The crows had been eyeing the old man’s body ever since it was raised aloft. Were they now feasting on the remains? But crows did not feed at night, so it must be the bear’s hide, loosened by the wind.

Kodjeote looked for the ladder. If the wind picked up, there was a danger the entire skin might be dislodged. He daren’t allow that to happen. It was his responsibility not only to attend the fire but to protect the remains, for according to the old beliefs a body that was damaged or rendered incomplete would prevent the spirit from entering the afterlife.

The ladder lay a few feet away. Picking it up, Kodjeote rested it against the scaffold, dropped his blanket to the ground, wincing as the cold bit into his exposed skin, and began to climb. The timbers groaned again as his weight shifted. As he drew closer he could see where the bear skin had come adrift. When he was waist high to the platform he braced himself against it and reached for the edge of the hide.

A dry rustling sound came from the trees behind him. Kodjeote turned to look. The tops of the branches were swaying from side to side as though an invisible force was trying to fight its way through the leaves. He shivered and turned back. His hand closed around the corner of the hide. Its suppleness had almost disappeared because of the cold. Taking a firm grip, he steadied himself, preparing to pull it taut. His hand paused in mid-air as his attention was caught by the play of moonlight on the dark, emaciated shape beneath the fur covering. In the gap between the hide and the bark strips, Kodjeote could see part of a tomahawk blade and the curved head of the old man’s war club. He hesitated and looked over his shoulder towards the village. All was quiet.