They travelled north into backcountry. Barely a single night had passed following Rider’s death before Cooper insisted they got out here while Snowball could still withstand the cold. Cooper had only known Rider for the shortest time before their community had rounded on the pair of them, fearful that the same monsters they’d survived now lived inside them. By the time everyone realized they were killing the very thing that could save them, it was too late. But through the course of that single night before Rider died, the two had forged a bond. That bond then became a mission in Cooper to restore Wranglestone to the place Rider and his friends had first founded, a refuge for the Returned far away from a world that would harm them. Peter’s dad had begged them to wait winter out, but as far as Cooper was concerned, they had no business cosying up in front of no fire all the while there were other Returnees out there in need of their help. But truth was, the trail had now gone cold. Every snowed-up cabin and wind-rattled trailer they’d stumbled across these last few days had been abandoned. But it didn’t seem to matter. Cooper promised that this was their last search of the season. But Peter knew it was only a matter of time before he’d hear the wolves or the mountains calling from inside his arms and want to take off again.

Three more days on the trail passed without word or incident when the landscape suddenly changed. The snow twisted up off the ground into peaks like fondant from a bowl, forming a forest of glittering stalagmites. There were trees buried beneath these snowy tombs, but if you didn’t know any better, you could almost believe a child had stepped outside to build a snowman and wound up creating a whole forest instead. Peter carefully led Snowball through the maze of spires, but there were no sharp edges. Not one branch clawed at their skin. Every hackle-backed pine cone had been rounded into a ball. The air was so dry up here the snow had formed a shell, encasing the land inside a glittering crust. The only movement came from a strange mist curling up from below. Just ahead of them, bison, grazing the frozen ground for vegetation underneath, appeared like ghosts beneath their frosted coats. They seemed unbothered by the strange vapours twisting up beneath their feet, but something was different about them here. They didn’t cling to the air like a mist at all, but chugged in woozy spirals, making the bison’s silhouettes shimmer like reflections in water.

Snowball whinnied and three silhouetted figures appeared in their way.

“Hello?” said Peter leaning over the horn of the saddle. “Who goes there?”

The figures didn’t speak.

Peter wrapped the reins around his fist before Snowball could bolt. “They’re not answering.”