But until then it belonged to the green-brees, the native spirits of the wild and the green. Fairy-kind were not welcome in their lands—especially not to hunt. Though perhaps Big Dan and his men only carried weapons because they ventured into those chancy lands, to protect themselves in case of attack. Which didn’t begin to explain the why of their daring the green-brees’ anger.

Edgan looked across the field. A fair distance from where he stood, he could see a small copse of wintered oaks, bare limbs reaching skyward with clusters of twigs grasping for the stars. A thicket of scrub brush grew out of the jumble of rocks at the feet of the oaks. The snow that lay in patches in the field would be thicker in there, crusted with ice.

As he watched, the Bogan Boys made their way steadily across the field toward that oak copse. Edgan hesitated a moment longer, then entered the field himself, pinpricks of nervousness worrying between his shoulder blades. Unlike the bogans, he chose his route carefully and didn’t make a sound. Halfway across the field, he sensed a presence in the air above him long before he actually heard the sound of wings. He immediately dropped to the ground and crouched motionless in the browned weeds until the presence was gone.

Owl, he saw when he felt he could take the chance to look. He watched the broad wings of the bird in the sky ahead of him, though in its present shape he couldn’t tell if it was an ordinary bird or a green-bree. It appeared to be making for the same copse the Bogan Boys were, but then it swerved and sailed toward the line of trees at the far edge of the field.

Of the Bogan Boys there was no sign—not until the owl had passed the copse. Then their grey bogan shapes rose from the cover of dead weeds and they continued toward the oaks, dry vegetation breaking under their boots.

Edgan hurried after them, but they disappeared in amongst the trees before he could catch up. When he reached the edge of the copse himself, he listened for a long moment. He could hear the murmur of conversation. Bogan voices and another, unfamiliar one, low and resonating.

Now would be a good time to turn around and go back, because if the bogans caught him here, they’d know he was spying on them—something that would put any fairy in a bad humour. And considering that bogans were bad-humoured in the first place and could carry a grudge forever, retreat was the sensible option.