There were kitchen utensils stacked together with a small gas stove, plus a pile of what looked like British Army ration packs. Checking out the menu, it appeared Seven had no intention of going hungry.

There was, however, no backpack, first-aid kit, outer garments or walking boots, so it was safe to assume that Seven was out walking somewhere, and intended to come back here to sleep.

Rhona eyed the drawstring bag. Made of canvas, it looked like it might also be an army issue. Curious as to its contents, she lifted it down and, loosening the cord, tipped them out. She wasn’t sure what she expected to discover – a piece of equipment most likely or maybe even toiletries.

Instead she found a torn and stained piece of mesh-like blue cloth. A neck cord attached to a pendant fashioned from what looked like a black scorpion encased in acrylic. The lifelike quality of the three-dimensional insect was so good, Rhona found herself moving back, just in case the scorpion flickered into life. The final item was a metal tag with the name ‘Rex’ attached to a fragment of an ornamental chain. There were none of the usual army details of number, date of birth or blood type on the tag, so it wasn’t for a human.

Were these mementos of her time in Afghanistan?

As Rhona spread them out and took a photograph, a wave of guilt swept over her at the thought that she was rummaging through Seven’s private things. Quickly returning the items to the bag, she hung it back up, wondering if Seven would know instinctively that someone had been here and feel violated by such an intrusion.

A feeling Rhona knew only too well.

Keen now to be out of the tent, Rhona made a decision. She could either linger about the camp area and wait for Seven to return or she could go looking for her, and for that she might need Blaze’s help.

Rhona lifted the discarded sock and, crawling to the open flap, offered it to Blaze to take the scent.

‘Go find it, boy.’

Seven had been moving around the campsite, and this was obvious by the initial criss-crossing pattern of the dog. Rhona hoped that Blaze wouldn’t suddenly disappear into the dense depths of the plantation, where she definitely didn’t want to go.

Thankfully, although Blaze sniffed around the area where the stream emerged from the trees, he didn’t head in. Instead he chose the path she’d used.

Rhona gave him an encouraging ‘Good boy’, hoping that perhaps Seven was in the vicinity of the trig point. She had no idea how long and far the dog, however willing, might be able to follow the scent.

Perhaps she was already demanding too much of the big collie. After all, he wasn’t a police dog, no matter how well trained he was.