Well, we knocked at the farmhouse door. The farmer’s name was Hreidmar, and he welcomed us affably enough, until the subject of dinner came up, and he saw the otter. In a moment his eyes went cold, and he walked into the little house without another word.

‘What’s eating him?’ I said.

Odin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Let’s find out,’ he said.

We followed Hreidmar into the house. His two sons were sitting by the fire. Fafnir and Regin were their names, and they were no friendlier than he had been. They barely spoke as we settled ourselves in front of the fire, but glared at us in silence. I didn’t care for it at all, and if Odin hadn’t been so keen to spend the night under their roof, I think that in his place I would have taken my chances sleeping outside by the river. But Odin and Honir didn’t seem to have picked up on the fact that we weren’t entirely welcome.

Finally, I cooked dinner. No one else seemed about to. Our three hosts must have been vegetarians, because they barely touched the fish and wouldn’t even look at the meat, but I just thought well, more for us, and finally unrolled my bed and settled to sleep by the fireside.

Odin and Honir did the same, and we slept deeply and dreamlessly – that is, until, some four hours later, when somebody slapped me awake and I found myself and my friends tied up hand and foot, with Hreidmar and his two sons watching us intently.

‘What’s this?’ said Odin.

I tried to assume my Wildfire Aspect but found myself bound with runes as well as rope. The farmer and his two sons weren’t quite as rustic as they looked; if only we’d checked their colours before accepting their hospitality.

Hreidmar bared his yellow teeth. ‘Which one of you killed my son?’ he said.

‘Your son? We haven’t killed anyone . . .’

He showed me the otter’s skin in his hand.

‘Oops,’ I said. ‘That was your son?’

‘Yes, that was Otter,’ said Hreidmar. ‘He used to like to hunt by day. He often took that Aspect. In the evening, he’d bring home his catch to share with me and his two brothers.’

Well, I mean to say. Who wanders through the woods during the hunting season disguised as lunch, for gods’ sakes? And why hunt as an otter when you can catch more salmon with a net? This Otter couldn’t have been very bright. I was about to point this out when I saw Hreidmar’s face, and decided against.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I started to say. ‘Obviously, I didn’t know who he was. If I had, do you think we’d have come here?’