‘Hartboy,’ I whisper softly because I know that’s who Harby really is. That’s his real name: Hartboy.

Hartboy turns to me and smiles his small lost smile.

He climbs out of the hollow and we sit together on a branch of the fallen willow tree, swinging our legs. The morning birds sing noisily all around.

‘You Hartboy,’ I say.

He shrugs.

‘I Hartboy.’ Then he smiles at me again, a little twinkle in his eye. ‘I Harby.’

He looks at me searchingly. ‘Who you, Cholliemurrum? Pa says you blue blue spirit. Pa says Ma find you in spirit sleep. Pa says Ma send you here. Ma send you here to make me safe.’

‘I’m not a spirit, Harby,’ I say, but for a second I almost doubt myself.

‘Not spirit!’ Harby calls over to his dad. He sounds slightly pleased with himself, like he’s won an argument. ‘I say to Pa you not spirit,’ he whispers to me. ‘I say to Pa you not know good spirit song. I say to Pa you not throw good spea.’

‘Thanks, Harby!’ I say sarcastically.

Harby shrugs.

‘Why did he think I was a spirit anyway?’

Harby looks at me like I’m very stupid. Then he shakes his head despairingly and taps me on the chest. ‘You not have deertooth, Cholliemurrum!’ he says, like it’s the most obvious answer of them all.

I tap Harby’s chest, laughing. ‘What are you on about, Harby? You don’t have a deertooth necklace either?’

Harby hangs his head. ‘My deertooth gone,’ he murmurs. ‘My deertooth lost.’ He sounds so heartbroken I feel really bad.

‘Sorry, Harby,’ I say softly. ‘What happened?’

He takes a big shaky breath. Then he tells me the story he didn’t want to remember.

‘Pa go to hunting grounds. Ma big belly. Baby come soon.

I wait with Ma. We wait baby.

Ma face white like moon. Ma need eat boar?

I hunt boar! I climb hazel tree. I wait.

I wait. I wait. I wait. Sleep come. Sleep-story come.

I see you, Cholliemurrum!’ He prods me in the side with his hard pokey finger.

‘I see you in my sleep-story.

I speak your name.’

‘I remember,’ I whisper with a little smile.

‘I fraid you, Cholliemurrum.’ Harby has a little sheepish smile on his lips.

I nudge him. ‘I was afraid of you as well! I ran home as fast as I could!’

Harby’s eyes twinkle. ‘I run home fast fast. I need tell …’ His eyes darken, like a cloud passes over his remembering. ‘… I need tell … Ma …’

Harby’s voice wobbles. He does a big swallow then continues.

‘Night. Ma cry. I wake.

Baby come. Baby come fast fast fast.

Mothga.’ He looks across at his baby sister. He sighs and closes his eyes, squeezing them tight shut. I wonder if this is it, if he can’t go on remembering. But then Harby speaks again, eyes closed, quiet as a prayer.

‘Morning come. Ma sick. Ma lie in forest.