It was the second day after the ambush in the forest. They had ridden as long as they could the previous day, only stopping when it was too dark to see. Lord Murray had made them a tent out of his cloak, and he and the two boys had taken turns in standing guard all through the endless hours of the night. No-one had trusted Grizelda to stand watch. They had risen before dawn, their makeshift tent so deeply covered in snow it was just a white hump in the winter landscape. Oskar sank to his stomach when he tried to go outside. The only way he could keep up was to leap and bound as if running through waves. It had kept snowing all day. The wind was so strong it buffeted against Peregrine, piercing through the wool of his cloak and leaving it dusted with frost. He could not see more than a few feet in any direction, and was glad of the low hoot of the owl guiding him safely through the trees. He kept Blitz pressed close to his heart, for the falcon would not wish to fly in this howling wind.
