Let me explain for a moment here. I was very hungry. I’d had a long and exhausting day. I’d had to listen to Honir’s inane conversation for hours. I was cold and frustrated, and the only food for miles around was fast disappearing into the gullet of a great, greedy bird. So shoot me. I lost my temper.

I picked up a length of branch.

The eagle kept on eating, tearing at the pieces of meat with its brutal, bloodstained claws.

I raised the branch with both hands and aimed a swipe at the eagle. It struck. But the moment the blow connected, I felt a sudden surge of glam run through my body and my arms. At the very same time, I found that my hands were frozen onto the piece of branch, which in its turn stuck to the eagle. A blaze of runelight surrounded us both. I sensed that maybe I’d been just a little unwise.

‘What’s happening?’ said Honir.

I ignored him and tried to shift Aspect. But whatever glam was affecting me had robbed me of my power to change. I was trapped; my hands were caught, and now the bird spread its powerful wings and, rising above the outcrop of rock, lifted me with it into the air.

‘Hey!’ I yelled. ‘Hey! Let me down!’

The eagle said nothing but rose higher, now flying in a steep diagonal towards the rocky mountainside. Its wings beat with smooth and vigorous strokes; helplessly I just hung on. Below me, the figures of Odin and Honir receded into the rolling mists.

I started to feel a little scared.

‘All right! I’m sorry I hit you!’ I said.

Still the eagle did not speak. My arms were hurting.

I said: ‘Come on. A joke’s a joke. Put me down and finish your lunch. You can even have my share if you like.’

The eagle made no response but continued its trajectory, angling low towards the scree that covered the flank of the mountain. I saw the ground approach at speed and braced myself for a hard landing.

But the eagle did not land. Instead it dipped low across the scree, dragging me along the ground. My hands were still caught; I couldn’t escape. I tobogganed across the scree, the stones and rocks and boulders.

That pain thing again. I’m not a fan. I howled and struggled and begged for release; cracking my ribs against a rock; skinning my backside on the gravel; barking my shins and ankles repeatedly over a xylophone of little stones.

‘Why me? What did I do?’

Still, the eagle did not reply, but concentrated on giving Yours Truly the ride of his life; first along the skirt of scree, then up through a narrow chimney of rock, then through the topmost branches of a sizeable stand of trees, that whipped and tore and flailed at me as I was dragged through the canopy.