At the fallen rock, Peter set his staff down. He kicked it beneath the overhang, clambering down on to all fours to watch it. The staff disappeared into darkness until there was only the echo of the wood skittering across the ice left to follow its movement. It reappeared, faint against the glow of the path on the other side, and Peter lay flat on his front. Reassured that there was nothing down there waiting for him, he scrambled under.

Halfway through, Peter braved a quick look round, half expecting to see the deer skull with those two hollow sockets staring back at him. But there was nothing there. Just darkness and fear and the back of the wolfskin pelt tugging at the heel of his boot. Reassured, he reached for the staff and scrambled out, relieved to see the stars above him again.

From here, the far end of the ravine was still out of sight just around a corner. But he figured that if he heard the ranger coming from that direction, he had time to duck back and leave the way he came. Snow started to flurry over the ravine, highlighting tangles of root and blackened branches jutting from the rock face as it slowly began to dust them. Peter wiped snowflakes from his lashes. You’re OK, he whispered clambering back up on to his feet. You’re going to be OK. But his relief was short-lived.

Against the rock face, a short distance from where Peter was standing, the snow seemed to settle in mid-air as if falling over the darkness itself. First, it formed a mound about six foot up off the ground, then it gathered further, forming two more just below it on either side. The darkness bristled, disturbing the snow starting to settle there, and something stirred.

The Restless One was featureless against the blackness of the ravine. Down here, where moonlight couldn’t touch it, it was more of a shadow torn from its body. Only this shadow had bulk and the stench of ripe flesh weighting it to the ground. But its invisibility wasn’t what was most disturbing. The thing must’ve smelled Peter standing there. It must’ve craved him. But it didn’t move. It just stood there. And its inaction only gave rise to darker thoughts. What if the Dead knew how to hide. What if it was watching. Or worse, waiting for Peter to get closer. Peter jostled the staff, reassuring himself of its place squarely inside his fist, when there was sudden movement.