The axe bit into the log, splitting it in two. With a grunt, the man levered it free and swung it into the next log. As he worked, he glanced up at the horizon from time to time. The treeline had been driven back as far as the ridge by his efforts, but still encircled the clearing he called home. Normally he found their presence soothing, but not this morning. A half-forgotten instinct, rusty from disuse, stirred uneasily within him. Still he worked on, steadily reducing the pile of logs to firewood.
A low growl caught his attention. The husky had been luxuriating in the fresh snow, snapping up mouthfuls to keep cool as winter slowly tightened its grip on the landscape. Now it rolled over, ears forward.
The man followed its gaze, scanning the treeline. Nothing. Or at least, nothing that he could see. He swung the axe over one shoulder and stepped closer to the dog, still watchful.
The dog raised its head, sniffing at the air and the man's grip tightened on the axe handle.
Birds exploded from the forest, wings beating hard as they laboured skywards.
The dog was up on its feet now, the man stood by its side. Both were silent. Both alert.
Something was out there, he could tell. In the past, his instincts had saved his life more than once. Right now, if he had any sense, he should be running for the shelter of the cabin and the comfort of his weapons. Instead he merely stood, armed with only an axe and a dog. He wasn't too concerned. After all, he'd faced worse with less.
A sharp crack reverberated around the clearing, followed by a series of crunches as something made its way through the dense forest. The dog's ears flattened and it growled again, but the man relaxed. Whoever was planning on visiting clearly wasn't aiming for stealth.
He patted the dog soothingly. "Easy, girl. Easy there Holly."
The dog looked up at the sound of her name, dark eyes full of doubt. He grinned down at her. "Just some guests, Holly girl." He turned back towards the firewood. "Come on."
By the second trip back to the pile of firewood, the figures were clearly visible against the snow as they trudged down the slope. It wasn't until the fourth trip to and from the cabin that he realised something was wrong.
The taller of the two figures was leaning heavily on the shorter one, who was struggling to support the weight if the meandering path they took was any indication. Neither called out to him, too exhausted to even try.
He jogged towards them, conserving his strength. Holly soon outpaced him and rapidly closed the gap, barking excitedly. As she reached them and began dancing around, tail lashing, the smaller figure finally seemed to realise help was at hand, and crumpled to the ground, taking the taller man - he could see it was a man now - with them.
Fending off the agitated husky, he dropped to his knees in the snow, ignoring the smaller of the two for a moment. The tall man was poorly dressed for the weather, with only a thin cloak for protection. Pressing his ear to the man's chest, he listened carefully. The man's heartbeat was erratic and his breath rapid, and when the erstwhile lumberjack sat back he could feel the stickiness of congealing blood on his cheek.
Further examination would have to wait. Sliding his arms under the injured man, he half lifted, half-dragged him upright. The man was a deadweight, but years of chopping down trees had not been in vain, and he began hauling his cargo to the cabin.
Behind him, the other person made a incoherent sound of protest. Without pausing, he said, "I'm taking your friend to shelter. I'll be back for you soon." He wasn't sure if they heard, but they made no further sound as he pulled the man under the wide overhang of the roof.
Opening the door would have been difficult without laying the man down again, so he solved the problem with a sharp kick. The door flew open and Holly darted through, her barking silenced now. Cups fell to the floor as he heaved the man onto the heavy oak table and turned to retrace his steps.
Somewhat to his surprise, the smaller figure had managed to crawl halfway to the cabin, but was now lying facedown in the snow, exhausted. He scooped them up, realising almost immediately that it was a woman. Adjusting his hold slightly, he carried her easily into the cabin, even managing to kick the door shut behind him. Dumping her unceremoniously in the nearest chair, he turned his attention to the man.
He could see immediately that nothing in his limited first aid kit would be any use to the man, who was bleeding heavily from a series of deep diagonal slashes to his torso. He pulled the ripped clothes to one side, then examined the wounds more closely, frowning. These wounds were - unusual - to say the least.
Taking a step back, he rifled quickly through the man's oddly mismatched attire, knowing what he would find. Just as his fingers closed around the object he had half-hoped, half-dreaded to find, he froze.
The unmistakable pressure of a wand tip was digging into the back of his neck.
"Don't move." The woman sounded tired but determined.
He sagged, head drooping as if defeated. This had the added advantage of removing the wand from his neck, if only for a fraction of a second. All the time he needed.
He dropped to the floor, Above him the room was lit with a blinding flash of light. She was fast, he'd give her that. He swept his leg sideways savagely, using his much greater bulk to knock her from her feet. As she crashed against the floor, he scuttled over, wrenching the wand from her grasp. Breathing heavily, he got to his feet and regarded her from a safe distance. The captured wand wasn't exactly pointing at her, but she seemed to get the message.
Slowly, she levered herself up into a sitting position. In the fight, the hood of her cloak had fallen back and he could see her clearly. She was beautiful, and that made him uneasy. In his experience, beautiful women were often sent to kill men.
Keeping the wand pointing in her general direction, he reached up and took off his trapper's hat, letting it fall. Slowly, he unwound the scarf that had protected his face and let that fall as well. Then he stepped towards the flickering light of the fire, knowing that it would illuminate his face more clearly.
Her reaction was unmistakable. Her eyes widened, darting to his forehead, then settled back on his. She hadn't been expecting to find him. Or was a very good actress. It didn't really matter.
He regarded her silently, then flipped the wand over in his hand and held it out. As she took it, he said, "Keep your distance when holding a wand on someone."
She narrowed her eyes, then slid back until she was nearer to the fire, fingers tight around the wand. "L-like this?" The shivers were coming fast now. That was a good sign. Previously she'd stopped shivering altogether.
He nodded. "Exactly." Gesturing to the man on the table, he said. "May I?" She jerked her head in assent, and he moved to the shelves which dominated one side of the room. Opening a small wooden box, he spoke over his shoulder. "I'll need my wand."
After a couple of seconds, her reply came faintly. "Okay."
He withdrew the wand from the box and regarded it critically. Rather dusty, but seemed to have survived over a decade of neglect. He took off his heavy coat, wiping his wand surreptitiously on it as he hung it up, then moved to the man. Now that he knew they were both magical, his options had increased significantly.
A few moment's work saw the worst of the damage taken care of. The recovery would take some time though. The man was at least sixty years old, his sparse hair liberally streaked with a mixture of grey amongst the original red hue.
He glanced at the woman, considering the deeper red of her hair. "Your father?"
She nodded, watching him closely.
Interesting, and certainly put paid to the fading notion he had entertained that they had been sent to kill him. Ministry hit wizards were not known for travelling in families.
"He'll sleep for some time now. I'll move him to the bed." Rather than run the risk of using more magic, he gently carried the unconscious man through to his bedroom.
When he returned, the woman was huddled almost on top of the fire, her body racked with shivers. Wordlessly, he held out the thick blanket he was carrying and she took it gratefully.
"Th-thanks," she said, drawing it over her shoulders. Her wand lay on the floor nearby, temporarily forgotten.
He nodded, and went to move away. She caught his sleeve and he looked down at her. "Thanks," she said again. He understood.
"It's okay." He stood up, then paused. "I'm Harry, by the way."
"I know," she said, then flushed. "S-sorry. Ginny. I'm Ginny."
Holly nosed out from behind the chair - she hated it when he used magic - and insinuated herself between Ginny and the fire.
"That's Holly. She'll keep you company while I make you something to eat."
Ginny buried her hand in Holly's thick fur. "Hey, Holly." She sounded exhausted, and he frowned.
"Are you injured?" He should have checked that first. It had been quite some time since his last visitor.
She shook her head. "Tired. Long time since we slept." Looking up, she gave him an quizzical stare. "Can we trust you Harry?"
He didn't reply, and she continued. "I mean, of course I know who you are - or were - but that was years ago. People change, don't they?"
"Yes," he said. "Yes they do."
By the time he returned with a mug of tea and a steaming bowl of stew, Ginny was asleep, her fingers still clenched in Holly's fur.
-BL-
It was dark outside when the woman, Ginny, awoke. From his position by the window he saw her start awake, stifling a cry. Perhaps she had been dreaming. He knew all about dreams. He sat silently, knowing that she would be unable to see him in the flickering glow cast by the fire.
Usually he would light the lanterns, filling the large room with warm cheerful light. Anything to keep the demons at bay. But not tonight. He glanced out of the window again, giving Ginny a moment to recollect herself.
He heard soft movements, then her low voice. "How is he?"
He nodded towards the open bedroom door. "Your father will sleep for a while longer, but his wounds are healing well."
Her footsteps faded away, and he gazed out into the night once more, the sword heavy in his lap. It had felt strange to pull out the old chest and put on his old attire, to strap on the familiar weapons. He had half-expected the clothes to be too small, but they fitted all too well, the dragon skin still supple even though he had not worn it in - he frowned: was it really almost fifteen years?
Shifting in his seat, he dropped his gaze to the ancient sword. At one time it had glittered in the dimmest light, but time and usage had turned the blade a dull black. He preferred it this way. A magical blade, it only took in that which strengthened it, and the blood of dark magicians was very strong indeed.
Ginny's footsteps returned, and he wrenched himself away from the past, standing and turning to face her whilst casually leaning the sword against the wall.
She had clearly taken a moment to clean herself, and his unease grew.
"Did you-?"
She shook her head. "No, all this was accomplished the old-fashioned way." Her smile made her even more attractive, and he was acutely aware that it had been a long time since - since he had female company. Turning away, he busied himself in the kitchen area.
"You must be hungry. I kept the stew warm, and there's fresh tea in the pot."
Accepting both gratefully, Ginny sank into a chair at the oak table - cleaned of the old man's blood - and ate hungrily. After watching her for a moment, he crossed to the door, opened it and whistled.
Emerging from the gloom, Holly bounded inside, thick fur liberally coated with snow which she proceeded to shake off vigourously. Harry sighed.
"Have you been rolling in the snow again?" Holly looked up, tongue lolling, as if to say of course. Her nose lifted as she caught the scent of the stew, and he shook his head. Picking up her heavy pewter bowl, he filled it with the stew and placed it down in front of her.
He watched fondly as she slurped it up. "Some guard dog you are."
There was a clatter of a spoon behind him. He turned to see Ginny, white-faced, rise from the chair. "Is there any sign that-"
He shook his head quickly, watching her closely. "No, you don't appear to have been followed."
"Not yet, you mean." It wasn't a question.
Harry folded his arms, reassessing her. She looked to be roughly his age, small, but lean and strong. Her eyes were calm, sharp and intelligent. Clearly this situation wasn't out of the ordinary for her.
Pausing, he looked down at the husky, who had finished her meal and was looking up at him expectantly. "Holly, wide perimeter, silent alert." He threw the door open and the dog vanished as silently as she had arrived.
Picking up the sword, he placed it down on the table within arm's reach, and sat where he could see the window. Doing so brought him uncomfortably close to where Ginny sat, and he wondered how they would look to an observer. A picture of domestic bliss, he imagined. With swords.
Ginny was regarding him carefully, and her lips twitched as if she had seen his momentary amusement. Then she leaned forward until their hands were nearly touching.
"We need to talk."
-BL-
Ginny pushed the bowl aside, and sighed in satisfaction. She had been surprised when he had insisted on her eating more before they talked.
"You never know when your next meal will be," he had said, eyes fixed on hers. She hadn't bothered to argue - he was right, and she had barely eaten in days.
Hunger finally sated, she stole a glance at the man sitting nearby, his gaze once more upon the window, as if he could pierce the darkness with a glance. For all she knew, he could.
After all, this was Harry Potter.
It was hard to take in, that she was sat eating dinner with Harry Potter. When she was growing up, the thought would have been a girlish dream come true. As a woman, she felt merely angry. He was alive, and had evidently been hiding out in the Canadian wilderness, whilst back home-
He looked over sharply, as if picking up her thoughts, and she cursed under her breath, forcing a smile. If the rumours were to be believed, he was a master Legilimens, and she needed to keep her wits about her. Checking her Occulumency shields, she met his searching gaze.
"Is it true you broke out of Gringotts riding a dragon?" She flushed. Where had that come from?
Harry looked startled, then threw back his head and laughed. The effect was startling, taking years off him in an instant. He was only thirty-five - barely a year older than her - but time and tide had carved his face into a stony impassivity which made him appear much older.
"Is that what they're saying nowadays?" He sounded amused, but the laughter had died out as abruptly as it had begun.
She shrugged lightly, avoiding his gaze. "In the absence of fact, people often bolster their hopes with rumour." The anger bled into her voice, despite her best efforts, and he stiffened, his face mask-like once more.
"We'd better focus on the problem at hand, don't you think?"
Ginny blinked. "Of course."
He paused fractionally, then nodded slowly. "Your father is in no state to travel right now, and that Apparition of yours will bring them right here."
She didn't bother asking who he meant. "So, can we rely on you to help us?" Her tone was matter of fact, but she felt her heart speed up. If he turned them out-
"Of course you can," he said, looking puzzled. "Why wouldn't I?"
Ginny rubbed her face, letting her weariness show. "Most people wouldn't. Didn't."
After a moment of silence, Harry shook his head. "You'd better tell me everything."
-BL-
When Ginny finished her story, it was as if she had simply run out of words. She fell silent mid-sentence and looked down, shoulders slumped.
Harry didn't prompt her to continue. He realised that at some point, he had stood up and was now grasping the hilt of the sword. Sitting down, he let the sword clatter on the table.
"Is it really as bad as that?"
Ginny nodded without looking up. "Worse, probably. Dad kept me protected from the worst of it - until recently."
He nodded absently. "And the Order?"
She glanced up, reading his face intently. "The Order of the Phoenix, you mean? No-one's heard from them in years, not since-"
"Not since I left."
She didn't bother to reply.
He could feel her anger, burning the air between them, and for the first time in years, he felt something flicker to life within him. Fanned by the flames of guilt, rage re-awakened inside him.
He feared it.
He welcomed it.
"Right," he said. "Right." It was the voice of a stranger, jagged with barely suppressed danger. The voice of The Chosen One.
Ginny evidently caught a hint of his resolve, as she glanced up, then paled. "Harry, you don't have to-"
A frantic scratching at the door interrupted whatever it was she was going to say. Harry stood up, hefting the sword. "They're here."
Ignoring her gasp, he strode to the door, extinguishing the fire with a wave of his hand. Holly surged in as soon as the gap was wide enough, ears flattened. Cupping one hand, he lit a small light ball in his palm, and crouched down in front of the anxious husky.
"Which way, Holly?"
She circled him, then stood facing the unlit fireplace.
He straightened. "South."
The faint globe barely cast enough of a glow to illuminate Ginny, but he could see she was stood up, wand in hand. He stepped closer, noting her look of determination. Letting the light ball float between them, he gestured at the wand.
"You any good with that?"
"I've killed before, if that's what you mean." Her tone was level, although he could sense the conflict within her.
"Good." He sheathed the sword on his back, the custom-designed scabbard in his jacket holding it snugly in place. Just like old times. With a plucking gesture, he pulled a map out of the air and flattened it onto the table between them.
"This is us. They're approaching from here, no doubt following the ridge line. It makes sense as they can minimise the open ground between us and maintain a height advantage longer."
His hand skimmed across the map, settling on a small building not far away. "This is where I want you and your father to hide." He looked up, anticipating complaints, but she nodded, grim-faced. "Holly will lead you there, and let you know if any of them try to get by me."
Ginny looked up worriedly, twisting her wand between her fingers. "Harry, there were six of them, when we Apparated out of Rio. All Ministry-trained. All experienced and powerful."
"True." He smiled humourlessly. "But they're just trained to kill. I was born to kill."
-BL-
As he had predicted, they came down the ridge line, well spaced out and moving almost without making a sound. Almost. He waited until they had reached the floor of the clearing, then clicked his fingers and ignited the firewood still piled outside. With a muffled whump, the flames tore into the wood greedily, casting flickering shadows across the ground between them.
They were good, he admitted. Barely pausing, they darted for the shadows. He moved forward, walking closer to the fire. They would see him now, he knew, and there was a chance they would decide to take him out without bothering to question him. He spread out his hands, showing them that he was unarmed. Or at least, not armed right now.
"You can come out now," he said, his voice carrying over the dull roar of the fire. "You three behind that stump, the two of you against the wall of my cabin, and the one trying to circle around behind me."
Over his shoulder, he heard the stealthy crunch of footsteps on snow stop, then move off again, moving back towards the others. One by one, they emerged into the light, spread out in a semi-circle before him. Six of them, just as Ginny had said.
He didn't know if Ginny had managed to drag her unconscious father to his backup cabin. If she had, he wondered what she would make of what she found inside. Would she even know what it was? Somehow, he thought she might, and even, possibly, how it worked. She was, he admitted, disturbingly competent. If things didn't go well, maybe she could use it to escape.
Throughout his musings, his eyes never ceased roaming across the figures ranged against him. Tall, heavy-set men, as adept with their fists as with their wands. Killers all.
He shifted his stance, and watched with satisfaction as they responded nervously. So far he had done the opposite of what they had expected. And of course, they didn't know who he was. Not yet.
"Who is your leader?" He had attempted to keep his voice light, but the rage burning hotly inside him came out in his voice once more.
After a moment, the man who had tried to circle behind him spoke. "That would be me. And who are you?"
Harry ignored the question. "You're here for the woman and her father," he said flatly.
The man cocked his head to one side. "If you know that, you know who we are. Who we represent."
"I do."
The figures shifted again. They could see where this was going. Their leader tried to strike a note of reasonableness, fooling no-one.
"It doesn't have to go down like this. Just step aside and let us do our job."
Harry settled his feet fractionally further apart, seeking purchase in the snow. "They are under my protection."
He paused, considering. Inside him, he felt the hot flames of his rage turn cold and hard, and a cruel smile split his lips. "I'll do you a favour. Leave, and live."
The leader looked puzzled. "What?"
Harry took a long, slow step forward, letting the firelight fall full upon his face. "If you leave now," he said distinctly, "I will let you live. If you don't, you will all die."
Snorts of laughter rang out from the other men, and the leader glanced over at them in amusement. "Last time I checked, you were still outnumbered."
Harry reached up, and took off his hat, letting them see his scar. "Last time I checked, I was still Harry Potter."
The laughter cut out.
"Bloody hell, Connor, it's him."
"He's supposed to be dead."
Harry felt his smile turn feral. "I tried being dead once. Didn't like it. So you know what I did instead?"
No-one replied. The men stood as if frozen, identical looks of incredulity across their faces.
Slowly, Harry reached over his shoulder and drew his sword. The black blade seemed to absorb the dimming light of the fire. He twisted the fingers of his other hand and a white wand appeared in it.
"I took this sword, and ran it straight through what passed for Voldemort's heart. Then I plucked this wand from his dead fingers and I laid waste to all his co-called Death Eaters. Some were women, some little more than children, but I cut them down and I bathed in their blood."
He stepped forward again. "I travelled the world and killed anyone else who had supported him. In Russia they called me Koschei. In India, Kali. In Japan his supporters thought I was a goryo, a vengeful spirit of the dead. They weren't wrong. And when they were all dead I came here, and warned your Ministry not to bother me."
The ice in his heart had spread to his voice now, and the men shrank back before him. "And yet here you are." He muttered a word, and the blade burst into green flames.
"Bothering me."
-BL-
The screams carried a long way over the still night air. From her position inside the freezing cold shed, Ginny couldn't make out nearly enough. Growling in frustration, she shoved the door open and stepped outside.
Instantly Holly was in front of her, pressing her back with surprising force. Struggling, Ginny finally dropped to her knees and grabbed the husky by her collar.
"Look," she said, feeling slightly ridiculous talking to a dog, "He might need help, okay? He could be injured, and if they get to him, they're coming for us next."
Holly cocked her head, dark eyes anxious.
"So are you going to help him, or not?"
A long pink tongue licked her face. Grimacing, Ginny wiped her cheek. "I'll take that as a yes."
Moving as quickly as she could, which was clearly painfully slow for Holly, Ginny raced across the snowy ground, making for the cabin. It was easy to see where the battle was, as flashes of green light illuminated dark figures running to and fro. They looked disorganised, not disciplined as they had seemed in Rio. It gave her hope that Harry was at least holding his own.
With one last, brilliant, flash of eerie green light, the night grew dark once more. There was a faint light cast by the glowing embers of what had evidently been a large fire, and Ginny used it to navigate towards the scene of the fight. As she drew closer, even the snow seemed to darken, making it even more difficult to see where she was going. Ginny stopped and listened. No sound. Was the battle over already?
Casting caution aside, she drew her wand and lit the tip. As the clear white light illuminated the ground in front of her, she froze. All around her, the snow was stained dark red. Liberal splashes of it sprayed in all directions. Dark pools steamed gently. Here and there, misshapen lumps that may have once been human were scattered around. None of them were even close to being complete bodies.
Gagging, she realised that she was stood upon a severed hand, the flesh scorched black as if by intense heat. Stepping around it, she picked her way across the scene, worry nagging at her. Beside her, Holly stepped daintily, ears flattened.
"Ginny."
She stopped.
"Ginny."
It was coming from the left, further away from the cabin. Peering into the night, she could vaguely make out a patch of deeper darkness, but that was all. Concentrating, she shot a ball of light high into the night, where it hovered, bobbing in the wind.
It was worse than she had imagined. Horrified, she took in the carnage, her fingers trembling against her lips.
"Ginny."
Whirling, she could now make out a form sat upon a tree stump.
"Harry?"
"It's me. Don't be afraid."
Ginny walked closer. Holly pressed close to her side, and she could feel the tremors racing through the husky. She patted the animal reassuringly.
"Why would I be-"
The word withered on her lips. This creature before her, covered in thick blood and gore, couldn't be-
"Harry?"
Dark green eyes blazed out at her, and at once she recognised him beneath the horror.
"W-what happened?"
Harry smiled wearily, wiping ineffectually at the congealing blood on his face. "We won Ginny. Can't you see that?"
-BL-
The engine coughed and died. Harry swore under his breath and turned it over again. On the fifth time, it roared into life, running somewhat unevenly. Sighing with relief, he clambered off the motorbike and left it running.
Holly was watching him from a safe distance. She had been wary of him at first, but was slowly relaxing around him once more. He didn't blame her. After all, he didn't even trust himself.
Inside the cabin it was warm and cosy, the fire burning merrily. Ginny turned from the counter and smiled. "Got it running I hear?"
He nodded. "Finally. I was beginning to think it wouldn't ever work again."
She waved a hand dismissively. "Good job I had faith in you." Turning back to her work, she hummed as she finished cooking breakfast.
Sitting down, he watched her with a sense of awe.
Following the fight, it was Ginny who had cleaned him off, then led him to the bathroom and told him not to come out until he was clean. When he had finally emerged, he found her outside, using her wand to dig deep trenches. Silently, the two of them had buried the remains of the men deep in the frozen ground, before covering over the entire site with a thick layer of snow.
Later, once her father was safely back in the bedroom again, she had sat with him and listened as he spoke. The words came haltingly at first, but he told her of how he had begun to recognise similarities between those he hunted and himself, of the blood lust that overtook him in battle. Finally, hardly able to whisper it, he spoke of his darkest fear; that he had been infected by Voldemort, that the corruption would grow until it consumed him.
"Harry," she had said, "When I couldn't fight those men on my own, I asked for your help. Why do you think you have to fight your battles alone?"
He still had no answer for that one.
Ginny served up breakfast and they ate in silence. The strange thing was, he mused, that it wasn't the kind of silence that he felt when alone, or even with Holly by his side.
Ginny's father , Arthur, was still asleep. After some thought, Ginny had decided to keep him asleep until after they had left. Although she didn't say why, he knew that she wanted to keep his location a secret for as long as he wanted it to be.
The question was, how long did he want it to be? Another question he couldn't find an answer for.
He was still considering it as they loaded her father into the sidecar, and Ginny was sat astride the motorbike, examining the controls dubiously.
"So this one gets me up into the air, and this is the invisibility booster?"
Harry gave her a hard stare. "You know it's the other way round."
"Is it?" Ginny gave him of her dazzling smiles, and Harry found himself smiling helplessly in return before he stepped back, folding his arms.
"Ready to go?"
Ginny regarded him seriously. "Are you?"
Harry shook his head regretfully. "I've got a lot to think about first."
He was startled when she grabbed him by his jacket, pulled him close and planted a firm kiss on his lips. Somehow, he retained his footing.
"What was that for?"
Ginny pursed her lips, eyes alight with amusement. "I just realised another thing you've been missing out on all alone in the woods."
She revved the motorbike engine, and settled the goggles over her eyes. "Something else to think about."
Snow spurted out from under the tire as the motorbike shot off down the rough path they had Transfigured out of the snow. At first, he could see her fighting the controls, the bike slewing from side to side. He held his breath. Halfway down the path, she shot him a grin, shouted something he couldn't hear, then straightened up the bike and lifted it effortlessly into the air.
Her whoop of joy echoed through the air as the bike and sidecar roared overhead, circling the clearing several times until the engine note deepened, the wheels lifted and it soared away over the trees.
He stood listening until the drone of the motorbike could no longer be heard, and then stood for a while longer, Holly at his side. Finally he sighed, hefted his axe and headed for the trees. As he walked he looked around at the treeline surrounding the cabin. It occurred to him for the first time that the thick line of trees was as much a cage as a barrier.
Holly woofed softly at his side. Reaching down, he moulded a snowball, then threw it as hard as he could. She shot off in pursuit, barking and snapping. Sliding one hand into a jacket pocket, he withdrew a small box with a winking light on it. He really should have told Ginny that the motorbike was fitted with a transmitter. After all, with this receiver he could find it anywhere in the world.
Anywhere at all.