Hooves thunder through the woods, the forest floor shudders with the approach of many men on horseback. Brin appears, running across the clearing. He hasn't even finished pulling up his trousers.

"Soldiers!" he shouts.

Tug kicks me where I sit cradling Kel's trembling body, my brother's eyes weeping pus, raw and itchy from the burning liquid. "Get up," he growls. He grabs Kel and drags him towards the stone shack. I follow as my brother edges into the dilapidated building, but hesitate on the threshold, fearing this is my chance, and I don't know how to grab it.

"You should leave our hands untied and not try to hide us," I say. "It would look better if it appeared as though we were all together."

"We are all together."

"Not captives," I clarify. "If Kel keeps his eyes down, no one would know we are not simply a family of hunters, returning to sell the deer and rabbit meat." Tug grips the hood of my parka and pulls me onto the tips of my toes. The collar of my fur digs into my neck, choking me.

"If the soldiers find out you're a shadow weaver," he says, "they'll send you to the tundra camps. Or perhaps they'll decide you're too old and then they'd have to kill you in front of the little one."

Camomile soap and summer grass invade my senses. Hair flutters about a pale neck.

Tug's incongruous memory is so unexpected, I grimace. Fortunately, he is too preoccupied to notice.

"There's no saving your brother once he's in the work camps," he says. "Most Uru Ana under those conditions don't survive long."

"I'm not stupid," I say through gritted teeth, because I can't breathe properly; because Beast-face understands me better than I understand him; he preempts my every move and thought.

"No one has ever escaped the camps," he says softly. Some secret layer of meaning weaves between his words, reminding me of the way he has built his mind to hide many things from the probing sight of a shadow weaver. Has he worked at the tundra camps? Umbra, shadow weaver, glitter-eyes, these are the slighting names we are usually given, yet Tug uses the name our ancestors who came from Auran, island of the Rushing Winds, called themselves.

I slip through the cobbled doorway into the rotting remains of a broken home. Winter sun shines through the narrow windows and a hole in the roof. Thick shadows linger in dusty corners and it takes a moment before I find Kel crouched by a back wall. His head rests on his legs, arms wrapped over his tangled hair, as though to protect himself from an oncoming storm. I kneel in front of him and try to lift his bound hands in my own, but his arms are locked in a tight grip.

The land rumbles like a great beast waking. A distant voice calls orders. I close my eyes and reach towards the voice, encountering many minds. After thirteen, I stop counting. I don't try entering any of them. I don't want to lose my sense of time and risk the soldiers finding me in a half-trance. My eyes flash open as a horse whinnies outside the front window, then blows through its nose.

"What are your names?" a man asks, his vowels rounded and musical.

"Tug Briggs," Tug says.

"Brin Twinerben."

"What is your business out here?"

"We were hunting."

"You return while most are just setting out. How long have you been out here?"

"A week."

"If you have been hunting, where is your sled?"

Hooves clop around the back of the stone building. I can no longer distinguish the voices enough to make out words. I concentrate on breathing steadily. The smooth light bay coat of a horse appears in the back window, a man's leg hanging off the side. The man jumps down and peers through the slim crack.

Kel looks up, the gold flecks in his blue irises shimmering in the darkness. I quickly cup my hand over his eyes.

"It is rare to see the King's soldiers so far north." Tug's voice moves around the stone house. He speaks as though he wishes only to make conversation, but if I have learned anything about him, it is that every gesture, every word is calculated.

A light scraping sound signals a presence in the sloping doorway. A tall man with dark hair and a dark green uniform. White bear fur drapes over his shoulders. He wears a fitted hat, also embroidered with the rare snowy fur. "Anyone in here?" he asks.

"Perhaps you should tell us what you are looking for," Tug says.

"Bring a torch," the officer commands.

I squeeze my bound hands together, the blood in my veins turning to sludge. A second man approaches behind the officer, carrying a rag burning on a stick. "Don't move," I whisper to Kel. "Whatever happens stay hidden."

As the high-ranking officer enters, I slink to the center of the room. He is suspicious of Tug and Brin with their half-empty sled, and expecting to find something. If he finds me, it should be enough to stop him checking further.

Flames lick the darkness. The officer steps beyond the shaft of daylight from the front window and stops. His eyes meet mine. He is younger than Tug and Brin, and far younger than my father. Shadows circle his brown eyes. Stubble darkens his pointy chin, except where stitches of a long scar dent the surface.

My arms dangle awkwardly in front of me. The officer lifts the sleeve of my parka and lowers the torch to my bound wrists. I follow his gaze. My hands aren't even shaking. Before I can stop myself, I have found the passage into his mind, and I am entering it.

Images ripple like concentric circles from a stone thrown into a still lake.

Summer. Handsome women in luxurious velvets. Exquisite gardens blooming with exotic flowers and fronds. Laughter.

Sparring in a tournament. Dirt and sweat. A voice: "The Prince will not make elite captain. Do you understand?" Hitting a hard, dirt ground. Stabbing a man in the leg.

Running through dungeon passageways. Hooves clattering across a courtyard. A palace high on a hill fading into the distance.

Scraping aside snow to reveal a frozen face, dead eyes, skin barely blemished by time. A soldier's uniform. "The Prince's escort," he whispers. "All dead, but no Prince." A letter with a royal seal. "Find him."

The memories seethe together and feel linked to each other, though I have the sense the rings are separated by weeks or even years.

Disorientated, I realize I have lost my balance. The officer grabs my shoulder. He steadies me with one arm, the torch held in his other arm flickering light across his face.

"Help me," I mouth. He stares into my eyes, then releases his grip, turns, and strides from the shack. Beyond the doorway, he barks orders, and mounts his giant stallion. There come the sounds of the horses and their riders galloping into the forest.

I am standing frozen to the spot when Tug enters.

"What happened?" he asks. I shake my head. Apart from Tug and Brin, the officer's mind is the first I have entered for many years. It has left a strange sensation in my body, a feeling of being connected to something greater than myself. "What did you say to him?"

"What do you think? He saw my bound wrists and decided I was not worth saving."

"Where's the boy?"

Suddenly remembering Kel, I rush through the rubble, throw my arms around my brother, and lift him up. He wraps his legs about my waist. I haven't carried him like this for years, and it is awkward because neither of us can hold on properly with bound wrists and my injured arm. We clamber back out into the setting, afternoon sun.

"Must have had more important business to attend to," Brin says.

"In all my years out here," Tug muses, "I've never seen the King's soldiers near the Hybourg. Something has happened."

Something, indeed. I swallow and hoist Kel higher on my waist. I do not look at Tug as he scoops up the dog, shelters it in the top of his bag and straps on his rucksack. If I catch his eye, I'm afraid he will realize that I know what the soldiers are searching for. Though I have no idea how it might become useful, right now, it is the only advantage I have.

CHAPTER 7 OF SHADOW WEAVER WILL BE POSTED ON TUES 10/03/2020; A new chapter will be posted every tuesday and friday until the book is completely available here. If you don't want to miss updates don't forget to add it to your library :)