Eyes alert, I lower myself over the ridge and creep towards the stepping stones. Hiding in the reeds where I found Harby’s spear, I look over at the wooden canoe; I can’t see Mothga but above the rushing of the water, I can just hear her cries.

I don’t know what to do. I think of the man, how he roared and beat the river with his fists; how his hand shook as he held the knife above baby Mothga, the blood running down his arm. My body trembles and I start to shiver. He was going to kill that baby, I’m sure of it.

And Harby? I think of the deep dark sinkhole and I stifle a sob. The realisation hits me like a thrown stone: Harby’s gone.

But I can’t just walk away and leave the baby. What do I do? What do I do?

I picture Harby here on this very beach, in the moonlight just a few hours ago; the look on his face when he heard the baby crying; the way he rushed towards the sound; no thought of anything else.

‘Mothga,’ I whisper to myself.

Harby had said that word over and over and over; he even said it in his sleep when I pulled him from the river when he was so poorly, as if Mothga mattered to him more than anything. All Harby wanted was to find Mothga, make safe. But now he’s gone. I swallow another sob.

I take a deep shuddery breath. My hand tightens on Harby’s broken spear; I know what I have to do.

I move shadow-soft and swift, through the reeds. I look upstream, towards the cave. As far as I can see there’s no sign of the man. But I need to be quick; he could come back at any time.

The stepping stones are half underwater now but it’s still the shallowest place to cross. Keeping low, I step on to the first stone and my trainer fills up with water. The river’s freezing after yesterday’s rain. A fish flickers silver on the riverbed. The current pushes steadily on my calves.

I reach the Pinnacle and step out of the water on to its lower ridge. The sun is properly up now and the reflections on the river dazzle my eyes. I shield them with my hand and squint upstream.

Then I see the man. He’s standing in the river just beyond the cave, around where, in my world, the bridge would be. Slowly, silently, I slip behind the Pinnacle. Heart racing, I press my back into the cold rock. Did he see me?

Carefully I peep out. Now he’s bent over a flat rock in the shallows. He’s got a fish on the rock and he’s gutting it, scooping out its innards and flicking them into the water with his knife.

I edge around the back of the Pinnacle towards the wooden canoe where Mothga lies. There’s nothing to hide me when I come out from behind the Pinnacle. If the man looks up he’ll see me for sure. My heart pounds.