I stand up and reach for my boots. ‘I guess.’ Stig might be right, but even without a wolf, I don’t like the idea of going anywhere near the tree again. Gandalf yawns and stretches as I shrug into my coat – at least one of us is looking forward to a walk. I grab the torch from the dresser and change the batteries. While my back is turned, I hear the cutlery drawer open and glance around to see Stig wrapping a knife in a tea towel. When I bend to clip on Gandalf’s lead, he shoves it in his coat pocket.

Stig opens the door and yellow light spills onto the porch. My cheeks and nose tingle from the cold. I pull on my hat and gloves, then step down, my boots crunching on snow. Beyond are acres of white under a grey-blanket sky – enough light to see by, but for how long? Stig jogs to the woodshed and I breathe into my gloved hands, trying not to think about the shadows that rushed past me last night.

A few minutes later Stig returns, carrying some snowshoes. He drops two of the elongated tennis racquets before me and I step into them and fumble with the straps. I lift one foot and take a wide step, careful not to hit the other. They’re cumbersome but at least I won’t sink into the snow.

Stig strides out like an expert. ‘You’ll soon get used to them.’

I take a few clumsy steps after him, then look over my shoulder. Thin grey smoke rises from the chimney, snaking into the pale watery sky. It feels wrong to abandon the cabin with the living-room light blazing, but if Olav and Yrsa aren’t there we’ll need to find our way back in the dark.

No, Skjebne isn’t exactly known for its nightlife, so where else would they be? We’ll soon be at Olav and Yrsa’s, facing the inquisition. Mum will arrive in the morning and take me home. As much as I don’t want to go near the tree, I can’t help worrying that I’ve let Mormor down. She begged me to water it – and now I’m turning my back on it, the same as Mum did.

I watch Stig trudge along the edge of the garden and hurry after him, though the snowshoes make it impossible to do anything but shuffle. Ignoring the twisted tree, I focus on the dark forest ahead. My lack of depth perception makes it hard to judge distances, but luckily I know this garden and these woods like the back of my hand. I’ve played in them every summer of my life; even at home in London, my dreams would bring me here.