But his heart was pumping hard in his chest and the old scar on the knuckle where his little finger had once been was itching. He wondered if the Red Brothers had come into his dreams again. It happened sometimes, especially when he was feeling small.

He parted the branches above him to get a look at the sky. It was still dark but the night was coming to an end, that quiet time of transition when the predators of the Wild returned to the deep places. Normally he would stay in the tree for a few more hours before venturing out, just to be on the safe side, but he felt unsettled, burdened with the sense that things were not as they should be.

Crowflies regarded him as he began the climb down, head tilted in surprise.

‘Something isn’t right. I think we should go back to the others now.’ This made the Birdkin cackle derisively. ‘It’s that oak. I don’t trust it, and … I’m worried about my friends.’

‘Sa-aat,’ cawed Crowflies, a mixture of warning and pity in the sound.

‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’

He thanked the tree and slipped from its embrace and down the trunk. It was hard travelling before dawn. The night seemed to cling on underneath the thick canopy, and he was painfully aware that the only thing that seemed to be moving, at least the only thing making any noise at all, was him.

The journey back to the oak was slower than he would have liked too, but despite a rising sense of desperation, Sa-at knew better than to rush at this time. Yes, the sunsrise was near, but any decent prey could tempt the demons of the Wild out of the shadows.

After a while, he heard the familiar sound of wings flapping in the dark and smiled to himself. Crowflies. Now it was clear that he wasn’t going to change his mind, the Birdkin had come to join him. It always comes, he thought. It thinks we should wait but it came to help me anyway. It is my friend. I think we should wait too but I am going to help Tal and Rochant anyway because they need me. Because they are my friends.

It was strange, thinking about other people, and what they needed or desired. Tal and Rochant were very different from him, both complicated in their own way. He liked that. They were new and strange, and made his thoughts fizz in a pleasant way. He did not want anything bad to happen to them.

By the time he reached the oak, the night was paling, allowing rocks and trees to take shape before his eyes, grey and hazy. He slowed as he got closer, that sense of foreboding rising again in his chest. Without thinking about it, he began to scratch the scar on his knuckle.