But this time I don’t run. I don’t push the hard thoughts away. I hold my ground. I member; curling my hand into a fist, I remember the deertooth I once held there.

‘Make safe,’ I murmur as I think about wolf-howl and hart-stomp and the family of handprints upon the stone wall. I think about Harby, how he saved me. And how I saved him. My mind fills with the invisible sound of spirit song.

Nero nuzzles my hand. I stroke his soft soft ears.

I’m still afraid. I’m still worried. But I’m not alone.

I open my eyes and look at my friends. My people.

‘I give thanks,’ I whisper. ‘Thanks for looking for me. Thanks for finding me. Sorry I ran off on you like that …’

Beaky smiles. ‘It’s all right. Sorry you’re having such a rubbish birthday. Are you OK?’

‘I’m good,’ I say uncertainly, looking out over my Mandel Forest; so normal, so strange. ‘Yep, I’m fine. But … I need to get to the hospital!’

‘No, hang on a minute.’ Lamont’s waving his phone around in the air. ‘Your dad said he was heading back to the house to look for you, remember …’ He bangs on his phone with his hand crossly. ‘And now I can’t get a stupid signal to tell him that you’re found.’

‘Well, I’d better tell him myself then. Come on!’

I zigzag down the mound, Nero at my side. I hear Lamont and Beaky running just behind me.

We run through the tree tunnel, and take the right-hand fork at the Druid’s Well. ‘That’s actually an ancient sinkhole!’ I call back over my shoulder.

‘You’re an ancient sinkhole!’ puffs Lamont.

Beaky’s laugh rises through the air like birdsong.

We run together up the path and along the high wooden fences; to my gate, to my garden, to home.

I burst in the back door.

‘Dad!’ I yell.

MY PEOPLE

The house is silent. Empty.

‘He’s not here,’ I say quietly, stepping back out into the garden.

Beaky’s climbed up to peek over the wall. ‘His car’s not in the drive,’ she confirms.

‘Probably stuck in traffic,’ says Lamont. He’s banging on his phone again. ‘Stupid message still won’t send!’

We slump down together on to the back step. Lamont starts throwing little pebbles, trying to get them into the watering can. My mind whirs. What if Dad got called back to the hospital? What if …

‘We know Dara’s really sick, Charlie.’ Beaky’s voice is strangely quiet and unsure. ‘You probably don’t want to talk about it … I mean … maybe, you don’t want me to talk about it …’

‘It’s all right,’ I whisper.

Lamont stops throwing pebbles and turns to face me. ‘I kind of get it, Charlie. How you feel, I mean. It’s really hard when bad things happen. It’s easier to run away from stuff, not think about it, and pretend things are all OK …’

I start to feel a tiny bit annoyed with him; he’s acting like he thinks he’s so old and wise!