‘Why?’ I say, wiping my eyes with my T-shirt. ‘Why are you giving him thanks? He nearly killed me!’

For a long moment the boy says nothing and I wonder if he didn’t hear me, or if he just didn’t understand. Then he says plainly, ‘Wolf give spirit. I give thanks.’

I shake my head. ‘Thank you, more like,’ I say, but he doesn’t answer.

I’m about to pass him the spear when I realise I’m only holding half of it.

‘Oh no,’ I whisper, fingering the splintery wood. ‘Your spear! Your spear is broken! I’m so sorry!’

He takes the snapped spear, examines it in the dark. The spear is part of him, really important, and now it’s broken. I wait for his rage, for him to yell or cry or thump me. But he doesn’t do any of those things. Saying nothing, he limps very slowly to the cave mouth. I suddenly notice that outside the storm has passed. The boy stands there, in the strange amber light, wiping the broken spear’s blade on his deerskin.

I hobble after him, my legs feel all wobbly still. Outside the rain is only drizzle now, somewhere a blackbird is singing. My breathing starts to steady itself as I gaze through the leaves of the toppled tree at this Stone Age world that’s so ancient but so very new to me: the cloud-rippled sky; the endless forest; the boy. I look sideways at him. He’s still got his blue bandage on, even though it’s ruched up a bit. This is his home and he knows how to survive in this wild place. Without him I’d be dead. Literally dead. ‘You saved me,’ I whisper quietly.

He looks at me and does a funny little half-shrug. ‘Make safe,’ he says, plain as toast, like that’s just the way things are. Then he touches his bandaged head. ‘You make safe me, Cholliemurrum.’ He does his little shrug again.

‘Make safe,’ I echo back. I guess he’s actually right. Without me, he’d be dead – I saved him too. Maybe now we’re even.

Maybe now we’re … friends. From nowhere, a nervous little giggle bubbles up inside me. What would Beaky and Lamont say? My Stone Age friend! I shake my head, half in amusement, half in disbelief. I sense the boy looking at me. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye too and a little tingle zigzags through my bones. Fear? Excitement? Wonder? I don’t know.

HARBY

I rub the ache of my torn shoulder and I shudder, peeking at the dim shape of the dead wolf back there in the shadows. I’m suddenly anxious to leave this cave. Fast.

‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Where we go?’ asks the boy. His eyes are wide and expectant, as if he thinks I know what I’m doing.

‘We go!’ I say, trying to sound all decisive and confident, but I can’t hold his trusting gaze. I turn away and bend back the branches to squeeze through their net; my mind is whirling. The boy has lost his memory … so he’s relying on me now, but I … but this … is the Stone Age … the Stone Age! How am I supposed to get us home through the Stone Age forest?