Billy had nodded solemnly and knew it was true. It made him sad sometimes that his Dad didn’t even like the word Indian being said in the house and they never talked about it. Yes, it made Billy sad all right. He thought being an Indian would be neat. The stuff Uncle Gerry said about the animal guides sure made sense and for a moment he’d almost told him about his wolf. But he didn’t. It was private. And he knew Uncle Gerry would think he was making it up. But he’d called the wolf that night with a new feeling of confidence, like it was all right to call him instead of waiting for him to come. He wondered if his Dad had an animal guide.

His Dad.

There was work to be done and he concentrated hard to begin it. No dreams this time. He felt his closed eyelids flicker as his eyeballs swivelled back in his head, and the soft waves of sleep starting to break over him again as he snuggled into the warmth of his comforter.

The Ford took a run at it but Daniel knew it was going to lose. At least six inches of snow must have fallen in the time he’d taken to get from the detachment to his turn-off and it wasn’t letting up. He’d managed to coax the truck about eight hundred yards up the drive before it had slowed down and slithered around like a puck. But a quick shovel round the wheels meant he’d got going again, and this time he had to keep her moving, and moving fast.

It wasn’t going to happen. Another hundred yards and the gradient made a pact with the snow to defeat this man-made hulk of steel and its man.

Daniel sighed and wondered about letting it slip backwards, just so the useless box on wheels would be clear to join the main road again in the morning. But he was bushed. He wasn’t going to waste time and lose himself all that ground. The walk up to the house through this stuff would take about half an hour. He gathered his things, zipped up his storm jacket, pulled on his gloves and left the truck to its fate. With the flashlight, he checked there was nothing in the back he needed, then started the trudge up the trail to that beer and some centrally-heated loafing. The snow was just stupid now. It was more like a solid thing with holes in it than independent flakes and he could barely see ten feet ahead, even in the jerky yellow beam of his light. He pulled his hood up and tightened the drawstrings. The snow was up to his mid-calves and he cursed the ploughing he was going to have to do to clear this crap if the snow didn’t give him a break.