Stig’s face is flushed pink and his eyes are as clear as the sky. Mormor would have loved this. She would have loved him.

‘Hey, Martha, catch!’

I turn as he throws a snowball. It misses.

‘You’ll have to do better than that!’ I shout.

I grab a handful of the white powder and pat it into a ball. When Stig reaches for more, I throw it and it hits him hard on the ear, much to his surprise and mine. ‘Sorry!’ I say, laughing.

Stig shakes his fist. ‘Right!’ He grabs some snow and rallies the troops – in this case Gandalf. ‘You saw that, didn’t you, boy?’ I turn and squeal as a snowball sails over my head, quickly followed by another. I race away and Stig gives chase. Unable to get me, he stands and catches his breath.

I hold up my hands. ‘Truce?’ I offer.

Stig nods. ‘But only because I’m a gentleman.’

I grin. ‘Not because you can’t catch me?’

Gandalf trots around the side of the cabin and we trudge behind him through snow half a metre deep. The view from here is even more stunning. The flat expanse of white stretches all the way to the forest without a single track, human or animal, to disfigure its cold perfection. If there is a wolf, it hasn’t passed this way recently.

The branches of the fir trees bend under the weight of snow: fairy-tale queens in white fur coats, arms dripping with diamonds. Even the twisted tree looks less bleak with a sprinkling of winter white. Seeing it casts a shadow over my happiness. I don’t want to go near it, but I can’t let Mormor down. Once we’re inside, I’ll ask Stig to translate the journals; maybe they’ll explain why I have to water it.

A raven caws and lands on a low branch, its blue-black body stark against the snow. It twitches its head and looks at me intently, then spreads its wings to reveal a clump of grey feathers on its chest. It looks just like the bird I saw when I got off the ferry at Skjebne, but why would it follow me here?

Stig is throwing snowballs and chasing after Gandalf. I nearly call out to him, but stop myself. He’d probably think I was making it up. I turn my back on the tree and walk away, but I’m convinced the raven is following my every move. A harsh caw makes me glance behind. Sure enough, it’s watching me.

‘Hey, Martha, is my nose still there?’

‘What?’

Stig walks over and prods a finger to his face. ‘I’m so cold I thought it had dropped off.’

I pull a face at his nonsense, and then bend to make another snowball. The raven swoops past my head and I duck away, afraid.

Stig chuckles. ‘You’re not afraid of birds, are you?’

‘No, I just –’