Vale called a halt as the wind picked up and snow began to swirl with blinding relentlessness.

The clothing Peter wore had been hand me downs. Good enough for around the clan camp but never intended for traveling in a storm.

‘We cannot travel any further,’ said Vale from the back of his mount. ‘The beasts need rest.’

‘And I need sleep,’ said Peter. ‘Don’t you need to sleep? How come you don’t need to sleep?’

He leaned forward on Girl and rested his face amongst her fur-feathers. The snow and ice stung his skin but he didn’t care. Even as he shivered a blissful lethargic calm washed over him.

‘I think I’ll just sleep here,’ Peter said. He curled up on Girl’s back.

‘We have to get him down and out of the wind,’ said Dusty. ‘The ice has got his head. His heart will not be far away now.’

Peter felt himself lowered to the snow, and he stretched out in it as if on the softest blanket. And then Vale and Dusty had him wrapped up in felted fur-feather layers and pressed him against Girl‘s side. The mount had been happy to drop to the ground and rest. Peter snuggled up into her musky scent and began to shiver again, enough that Vale bound him into the blankets to stop him throwing them off.

‘He’ll shake the ice off in time,’ Vale said.

The two Snows got their mounts to haul piles of snow in an arc around Peter’s nest of warmth, then propped a roof over him.

Together the Snows chanted a song to Girl asking her if she would just lie still, to sleep, and dream with her rider until morning.

The other mounts settled on either side of the shelter then the two old men crawled inside into the dark and slipped under the blankets. The warmth from the one wall made of beast made the space almost pleasant to be in as the snowstorm mounted outside.

They spoke of hunts, and storms, and loss, but Peter heard nothing in the depths of his sleep. His body stopped trembling and he breathed easier until morning.

The dark of the snow cave matched the deadness of sound, so deep and profound it seemed he existed between worlds. Girl took a breath and Peter awoke more fully.

The cold of one wall and the warmth of another gave him direction. The mount breathed again and he stood, stumbled over someone who grunted.

Time seemed suspended except for the distant thud of Girl's heart, and the closer pulse of his own. He took a breath and remembered the storm.

I’ve lost Sarah again. And I’ve lost Walt and Tiz, and maybe never find Jan.

He scrambled against the wall where the felted fur-feather covering that had sheltered them felt cool but not cold. Damp but not wet.

A sudden urge to get out from under the dull darkness made his heart race. Feeling along the wall, stepping and sliding to be sure not to stand on anyone, he tried to find an opening. A flap slipped free, and a flow of cold sobered him.

‘The storm has eased. Ended perhaps,’ said Vale from the dark.

Peter pulled back the next layer and a dim glow seeped into the shelter. Vale sat amongst furs, his chest bare, his hair free of its knot.

‘Take the shovel. Dig us out,’ said Dusty. The old man lay still. His eyes closed. ‘It’s time we entered the world again.’

‘We have to find the trail,’ said Peter. ‘Find the clan, Jan. And Thorn.’

Peter took up the wooden snow shovel and stabbed it against the wall of snow. It spilled across his knees.

Then he dug and pressed the snow back. He cut up towards where it glowed brightest. He stood, and climbed against the sides of the passage as he opened it.

The world he shouldered into hit him bright and white and cold like a blade. He woke again as the air burned in his throat.

The still air and blue sky lay over a pristine blanket of snow that rolled over the prone shapes of the mounts. One rear its head to gaze in surprise at him. The beast opened its jaws in a yawn that reminded Peter these carnivores might still want to snack on him. Behind him Girl shivered. Snow fell from her flanks and her black fur-feathers streaked with color cascaded free of white powder.

Vale popped up next to him.

‘Get out onto the snow and pack it down so we can stand and pack everything away.’ Vale passed him a piece of jerky to chew on.

The nearest mount raised its head and turned a huge eye upon him. Its nostrils flared with the scent of the meat.

‘Eat fast before the mounts start having ideas of eating. I’ll break out some food for them when we have got everything up from the shelter.

So Peter worked and kept warm as the sun stepped up the sky the light brightening the snow until he squinted, his face in a grimace. With a grunt Vale gave him a visor of curved wood with a strap to hold it to his face. Holes and swirls worked in the thin wooden face let light through and he could see again. All dim and sharp, as if through shaded glasses.

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‘They’re like window blinds for your face,’ Peter said with a laugh.

Dusty stood up with a groan.

‘My old bones.’ Then he staggered across to his mount where he slapped its flank. The mount grumbled, and in response to Dusty’s urging stood up, shook its coat free of snow, then settled to the ground again.

‘Lazy old thing.’ But Dusty hauled saddlebags and tied them into the saddle webbing. Vale did much the same.

Girl shivered again then stood, cocked her head at Peter and stretched her head low towards him.

‘Sorry Girl. I’ve not got anything for you to eat.’ He had long finished the hard jerky and now scooped a small handful of snow which he sucked to quench his thirst.

‘Take a care,’ said Dusty. ‘The ice will chill you and you will fall into the deep cold again. We barely got you warmed in time.’

‘We can’t make a fire. It will call the enemy upon us,’ said Vale. ‘And we need to get off.’

‘But where do we go?’ said Peter. He looked across the white plain swept clear of features and any hint of the clan’s trail that had been so clear in the moonlight.

‘They will not be far,’ said Dusty. ‘The storm hit them as well.’

‘But it is well to be away,’ said Vale. ‘We ride. I will feed our mounts some fat-preserved meat. Not too much, just enough to get them in the mind for hunting.’

‘Will that help?’

‘Yes. They can scent the clan, the smell of food, and home, and pack. In this still air they will find the Clan. My fear is that the ravening beasts and their masters will be able to as well.’

The mounts plowed through the snow until they reached the edges of a shallow slope the storm had blasted clear of snow, then the mounts began to run. Peter pulled and tightened his clothing around him as the cold wormed its way inside to chill his skin. Then he did as Vale had done. Lay forward on the shoulders of his beast like a surfer paddling out to catch a wave. It seemed he flew as the steady pace of the mounts flung the snow-bound land behind them.

The three mounts ran through a dense forest along a winding game trail just wide enough for the beats to pass.

‘The clan did not come this way,’ said Dusty.

‘They are on the scent. Let them show us the way for a time,’ said Vale from the lead mount.

The cold and wet of melting snow had seeped into Peter’s clothing. He huddled against Girl for warmth and comfort. He only thought about how he felt had had been manipulated to leave the skyship, his best way to the portal, and home.

Running cross country on Girl will not get me to the mountains in time. Will not help me save the cousins.

Did Sarah want me to go?

Her promise could have been empty. Just enough to get me away.

She knows how to fly the zharaqsa engine now. And as soon as she did they got rid of me.

To clear his thoughts Peter sat up and looked around. The mounts now broke free of the forest onto a wide river plain. A herd of small herbivores, startled by the beast’s sudden appearance scattered and twittered in fear. The hungry mounts twisted their path and chased down the animals.

‘No,’ shouted Peter. ‘The Snow Clan. We need to be after the clan.’

But the beasts paid no heed of the humans and lashed out the animals bringing four of them down. The snow ran red with blood as they fed.

‘Do not stand between a mount and its meal,’ said Dusty with a chuckle. ‘You will fail to stop it, one way or another.’

Vale laughed too. He vaulted from his mount’s shoulders using his long lance to lever himself away. Then as it angled through the highest point he slid down to the ground. A young animal, confused by the scent of its parent perhaps, had sidled close. The long lance point slipped towards it. Vale stood far enough away to not spook it, then in a smooth movement drove the point into the animal’s chest. It sighed to the ground.

‘No harm in getting some meat in for ourselves,’ said Vale.

‘Everything here tastes like chicken,’ said Peter. ‘What I’d give for an apple.’

‘Hope dies hardest the closer you think you are to your goal,’ said Dusty.

They stopped to take stock after travelling for most of the day. Sometimes running, but most times at a walk, as the mounts caught their breath and recovered. They had now drawn up in a circle of three. The beasts preferred to eye one another to avoid conflict, though these seemed to get on well. They even nuzzled each other and crooned like lovers.

But then they just fed that morning.

‘I thought we would find their trail,’ said Vale. ‘But in this vast land we cannot see.’

‘The invading fiends will have the same trouble as we do,’ said Dusty.

Peter sighed. ‘They may have ways we do not. They have devices and powers I don’t understand.’

‘Evil creatures,’ said Thorn. ‘So like our shaman and yet so so different.’

‘Different yes. Manisaurs, quevantaqi, are not the evil creatures these blackbirders are,’ said Peter.

‘What do they want?’ said Dusty.

‘No one knows,’ said Vale. ‘Power? Control? Riches?’

‘So they are like men,’ said Dusty.

‘No. Not like men,’ said Peter. ‘All blackbirders seek these, but only the most worthless of men want such things.’

It struck Peter then that he had become used to the easy conversation. He had begun to speak in Clan without even realizing it. And the ability had not even made Vale or Dusty comment. They had accepted it without thought.

Though it’s strange... the imp. It’s close by. Has to be.

But Peter had not seen or heard it, and how could it stay close to the mounts even as they rode hard and fast?

‘Vale. May I hold your lance?' said Peter. 'I wish to test its weight.’

The warrior grunted, and slipped the long sharp lance from its scabbard. Peter took hold of it and balanced it on his finger tips.

‘So light, and strong.’

He saw the sleek lance had the layered swirl of a subtle grain under the smooth gloss of the surface. ‘It’s made of fur-feather felt.’

‘Yes. Over the long bone of a flying raptor.’

To Peter the lance seemed as strong and light as the best carbon fibre from Earth. And he realized that it really had been made of carbon, but a natural fibre already spun into the shape needed by the Clan. Then lacquered and cured to an incredible hardness.

He brought the point around until it touched the saddle bag low on Girl's flank. He had never thought of the saddle webbing much before. But that had been where Vale and Dusty had stowed their trail gear, the shelter, the jerky.

‘I wonder what’s in my saddle bag,’ Peter said. And he gave the hide bag a prod. It shifted under his push. ‘Should I skewer what's in there? Feed it to Girl for a snack?’

The saddle bag shifted and a dark hand popped out followed a moment later by the strange head of an imp.

The reaction from Vale and Dusty came immediately. Vale drew his blade, while Dusty swung his lance about to point at the saddle bag.

‘Quick,' said Dusty. 'Get it before it’s too late.’

‘Sorry, sorry. It’s already too late I’m afraid,' said the imp. 'Though not really, since I planned this in a way. Not such a pointed capture of course. But I suppose discovery was always going to happen.’

Dusty moved his mount around and closer in order to bring his lance to bear upon the imp.

In a flash the imp had climbed from the saddle bag and now sat next to Peter.

‘I don’t have an apple I’m afraid young Peter. But will this do?’

In his hand the imp held a bar of chocolate.

‘Hokey Pokey chocolate,’ said Peter.

‘Is it? Of course it is. You know this because it's yours.’