The fire burnt away nicely but there was no sign of Mair. Merry wondered where she’d gone. She felt both nauseous and starving. Sick with worry for her parents, who would have discovered her absence and her note. Starving as usual. She was grateful for that little bit of normality. She found herself instinctively reaching for her phone, wanting to text or ring James. He always made her feel better. She gave a bitter laugh. He was nearly five hundred years away. She pushed up, prowled around the little kitchen. She needed to do something. Occupy herself. She ought to get breakfast ready, but there was no fridge stocked with milk and eggs and bacon, no boxes of cereal, no foil-wrapped pats of butter. She didn’t know where to start. A distant burst of trumpets sounded. She hurried to the door, peered out. When she saw that there was no one around, she walked out, stared in amazement at the spectacle across the valley. Merry couldn’t see faces from this far, but she could see a huge figure on a fine black horse riding at the head of a cavalcade of mounted men followed by more men on foot leading at least eight wolfhounds.
