15

Stig hurries down the hill towards the forest. The snowshoes are impossibly heavy – I can’t run. The wooden frames catch on each other and I fall into a snowdrift.

‘Stig, wait!’

I try to get up, but my foot hits my other leg and I thud back down. My heart thumps in my chest. I take a deep breath and am about to yell again when a furry face nudges my neck. Gandalf licks my nose and I cry with relief. Holding onto his body for support, I stand and then stagger down the hill.

Stig is waiting at the edge of the forest. ‘You OK?’

I rush into the trees – ‘Yes. Come on!’ – but it’s so dark I can’t find the way. I grab the torch from my pocket and my fingers fumble with the button. Stig bites off one of his gloves and switches it on for me. I sweep with the beam, but all I see are densely packed tree trunks. At last I find the path.

‘This way!’ I call.

Even with the torch and the light of the moon, I can barely see the trees three metres ahead. I rush forward and a spiky branch slashes my cheek. I yelp and raise my arm.

Stig follows behind, his breathing heavy.

Another distant howl.

‘Quick, Martha!’

I swallow a sob, wishing I could run, but the stupid snowshoes! Olav and Yrsa were badly clawed but not eaten, so it doesn’t kill for food, whatever it is. Every snapping twig sends a jolt of fear through me. What if it’s got our scent? There’s no way we can outrun it!

When we emerge from the forest, both of us are panting hard. Mormor’s cabin blazes brightly in the dark.

‘Come on!’ urges Stig.

I snatch a few deep breaths, then trudge towards it.

We’re almost at the garden when Gandalf turns back and barks.

Something is moving through the forest behind us, breaking and splintering wood.

I chase after Stig, panic forcing speed into my legs. Gandalf could easily streak ahead, but he stays close. He growls at the darkness behind me, but I don’t stop, not even to catch my breath.

Stig charges onto the porch and rips open the cabin door. I clamber up the steps, not pausing to take off my snowshoes, and fall inside with Gandalf just behind. Sprawled on the floor, I desperately gulp at air.

Stig bolts the door, then kneels and puts his arms around me. There is so much fear and anguish in his coat. I bury my face in his neck. ‘What was that?’ My shoulders heave with sobs. ‘Poor Olav and Yrsa!’

‘We’re safe now, Martha. It’s OK. It’s OK.’