Chapter One

Here, where the forest thinned out and a narrow belt of long grasses, stubby bushes, moss scattered boulders and bleached white tree trunks touched the skirts of the mountains above.

Here with each breath in small evaporating clouds and the sweat creeping down his neck cool, cold. Here would be a good place to fight, or die.

Behind him, Symon heard the sounds of the hunting pack getting closer. No time to pause. He ran out from the treeline and to the nearest boulder, but it was too tall this side for him to climb up so he ran around it. His mind was racing through his options. Maybe he could grab a tree branch and set it on fire. Wolves hate fire. But no time to pause and light it. He had his hunting bow in one hand and three arrows tucked into his belt. With a good line of sight he could hit maybe one or two. He needed higher ground and a clear view. Even climbing a tree in the forest couldn't give him that and then he'd be stuck. As he ran around the boulder he halted in his tracks: in front of him were two adolescent wolves, a grey and a black, waiting for him. His heart skipped a beat and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Is this it? Tears pushed themselves into his eyes, blurring his vision until he blinked them away. An involuntary sob escaped his mouth with a puff of breath. The black, smaller and younger than the grey, took a step back and crouched on the defensive. The grey lowered his head slightly.

Three large adults burst from the trees and slowed to a trot, widening their grouping as the pack surrounded the boulder and the boy.

So many thoughts ran through Symon's mind. What would his father do? Not get himself fooled into being circled by a hungry pack of wolves! What would his mother do? The thought of her made him sob out loud again. Where is she? What had happened back at the Inn? The emotions of the past twelve hours were too much, the shock of finding his mother missing and probably abducted. The frustration that his father had been up in the low mountains for over a week looking for ore and leaving them without any real protection. His shame for not being there to stop the abductors. His stupidity for heading into the forest with only three arrows and a skinning knife. For not realising winter was approaching fast and that the frogs and mice these wolves usually hunted were all gone or hiding in their winter nests already.

It would serve him right for getting himself killed. Helpless. Cold. Alone.

Then a blush of annoyance warmed his thoughts: how stupid his parents were for living in this remote place. Hotter coals fuelled the helpless feelings about his mother leaving him like this. Flames sprung up at his father for constantly leaving them alone. His fear turned to anger. Knuckles white on the grip of his bow, head bent back, he screamed with all his might at the skies.