[Huan]

Birger sat on his little stool near the doorway to the kitchen. His chores were done, and Cook had everything in order for the midday meal. She would call him, she’d said, sending him out to sit for a while and drink a cup of steaming tea.

He was all eyes and ears as he strove to hear what the others were talking about. He shivered, despite the layers of clothing he had on. More from dread though than from the cold. Mistress Wenda looked very bad and scared, too. And she was someone he never thought to look so. She walked tall in his little world, like some untouchable being, brave and strong and fearless. He was hard put to reconcile how he saw her now with the image of her he’d always had.

White Paw sat next to him, leaning against his legs. Birger was glad of the warmth and of the friendly, secure feeling the dog gave him. ‘Can you hear them, boy?’ he asked, whispering in the dog’s ear. ‘Something about a terrible wight and such and coming after Mistress Wenda?’ He shivered again, thinking how just yesterday, he and Mara had gone far from the little village, to the north. No wonder White Paw had tried to hurry them home!

He glanced over at Old Goody who was herself watching one of the tall men as he stirred up the fire for her. There was an odd look on her face, he thought, as she glanced into the flames. But the fire had blazed up as he watched her, drawing his attention. And the light from it and the dancing flames brought a kernel of hope to him. He put his arms about White Paw’s neck. ‘It’ll be alright, won’t it, boy?’