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Before leaving, Emma had thrust a rolled and sealed script into her hand, along with a backpack stuffed full of food and furs, a heatstone and three of the biggest dead hares Sereh had ever seen.

‘The scripts are for the Librarian,’ Emma had whispered as an explanation but offered nothing else. Sereh had known not to ask. Perhaps, she considered, it was connected with whatever Emma had been reading in her own scripts, housed within run-ketill. As much as Sereh loved to read, something had held her back from asking to see the scripts.

Arrow once more resented the journey within Skaldi’s golden claw. The wolf-dog bounded free as soon as her paws touched the still frozen ground. She’d rushed off, nose down, to find whatever she could and scare it. Sereh examined her critically. A few days with a little less food than the wolf-dog had become accustomed to in the caverns would be good for her.

As the sun rose in a stark blue sky, devoid of clouds or wind, she viewed her surroundings. She’d never been this far inland before. To the south, she could clearly see the huge black mountaintops of the Southern Quarter. Behind her, she glimpsed the comforting view of the Snaefell range. Briefly, she wondered which of the huge mountains in the range was her current home. She suspected it was the tallest of them all. It felt the only right for dragons to hide away from her people amongst the tallest of the peaks. Entirely in view of everyone, if only they knew to look.

During the journey, she’d endeavoured to fix the correct peak in her mind but Skaldi had flown erratically. She’d quickly become disorientated. Part of her wondered whether Skaldi had done so on purpose. After all he’d done to keep her alive, it frustrated her. They’d meet in five days’ time. Her disgruntlement towards him might have cooled by then.

‘Goodness,’ she spoke to Arrow, although the wolf-dog had loped away. ‘The snow’s still so deep here, Arrow. No one will be able to harvest the Long Night crops if they live close to the Library. And that means they won’t be able to plant the Long Day seeds either.’ Thinking of the wealth of food she’d eaten recently, she recommitted to her decision to tell Erann about it. When she found him. When. Not if any more. She knew he lived. All they needed to do was find him. If the thaw didn’t hurry up and finish, people would starve when the Long Night returned. Unbidden, she thought of Estrith. If they’d had access to the verdant oasis within the mountain, then they might have survived. Those living within run-ketill had so much compared to the inhabitants of their land.

‘Right, come on, Arrow. We need to reach the Librarian’s steading.’ With a sharp whistle when Arrow didn’t immediately reappear, Sereh struck out. Skaldi had flown high enough for her to see where she needed to go before releasing her. Now, she hoped to reach it before night fell.

‘It’s mighty cold,’ she complained to Arrow, shivering into her cloak, ensuring her snowshoes were attached correctly. She couldn’t help worrying that her time in the caverns had already made her feel the cold whereas before, it wouldn’t have concerned her. She’d survived the first night after Dawning, by the Gods, now she felt cold crossing the glacier where Skaldi had deposited her.

‘Come on, Arrow, if we move more quickly, I won’t feel the cold.’ She heard Arrow’s scurrying approach, and then the wolf-dog surged in front.

She followed Arrow, watching the snaking line that appeared in the snow. It was as if Arrow knew the way.

Still, it took time. The daylight began to wane long before they reached the Library, but Sereh hurried onwards. She didn’t relish the thought of spending a night outside, not after the comfort of run-ketill.

Finally, in the deepening gloom of dusk, she saw the building ahead, where bright shafts of candlelight leaked through the only unbarred window. It couldn’t be anywhere but the Library. There were no other steadings nearby.

Now she felt herself hurrying across the snow and ice covered ground, grateful for her snowshoes, because it remained incredibly slippery.

Panting, she hammered on the huge ornamental wooden doors, bending to remove her snowshoes, and then banging the door once more. It was a beautiful thing, varnished to a high sheen. It proclaimed the wealth of the Library.

‘Come on,’ Sereh muttered beneath her breath, a glance over her shoulder, assuring her that a storm was blowing in. Eventually, the doors were opened by a woman who looked at Sereh in surprise, but quickly recalled her duties to the Library. All visitors were welcome, Sereh knew, even unexpected ones.

‘Come within, quickly,’ the irate, black-haired, woman commanded in the glow of the indoor candles, not even asking for Sereh’s name, as she glared at the thick snow and shuddered at the increasing wind. The woman’s hair shone, reflecting the glow of the candles, making it appear forged of silver.

‘Quickly, quickly,’ she urged, holding the door open far enough to allow them to enter, not even querying Arrow’s right to be inside. A luxurious warmth engulfed Sereh as soon as she was inside. Quickly, she stripped off her travelling cloak, gloves, hats and showshoes, even as she smelled the unmistakable scent of rolled scripts.

The woman locked and bolted the door before starting to question Sereh.

‘Who are you? Why have you come to the Library?’ Her voice was pleasant enough, but there was a sharp edge to it. Sereh gulped, realising the flaw in their plan. Who was she going pretend to be and what was her reason for visiting the Library? It was true that everyone was allowed to enter the Library, but few actively sought out the Librarian. Panic briefly took hold. She railed at her stupidity in not using the journey to concoct a reasonable story to explain her arrival. Sereh felt sweat beading her brow under the woman’s scrutiny. And then inspiration struck. A distant memory of a conversation she’d shared with her father tumbled into her mind.

‘My name’s Sereh. This is my wolf-dog, Arrow. My father, Hagon, was once the apprentice here. I’ve come to seek sanctuary.’

The woman examined her critically in the candle flame. Sereh held her breath, hoping she wouldn’t turn her away. A smile lit the lined old face, transforming her back to the beauty she must have been in her youth.

‘You look like him, you know. You have his eyes, and also his nose.’ Her tone had softened. ‘You’re most welcome. I’m sure even the Librarian would like to meet you. Your request for sanctuary will, of course, be granted. I’ve rarely seen the Librarian as angry as he was the day he heard the news of your parents’ sad death and your servitude to Jarl Rankil. But come, come to the kitchen, you must be frozen to the core, travelling in weather like this.’ Now she chastised, and Sereh realised the woman was very similar to Elen. She hoped she cooked as well, and Arrow’s claws, already heading along the corridor, assured her the wolf-dog yearned for the same.

Sereh expelled her held breath. There’d be no more questions now, she was sure of it. She’d be allowed to stay until she needed to return to run-ketill. The news the Librarian would seek her out, was welcome too. She had to see him, to hand over Emma’s missive. And, because her father had spoken of him with such reverence, Sereh felt as though she already knew him. But, he must be ancient by now.

‘Follow me,’ the woman commanded, and walked ahead. She and Arrow were led down a long corridor, floored with wood, over which Arrow’s claws moved with sharp taps, reminding Sereh of the dragon’s claws, and then through a door and into a small cooking area where a large, well-scrubbed wooden table dominated the room. The heat from the hearth was even more welcome.

‘Sit, sit, please,’ the woman invited. Weary from her disturbed night of sleep and the long journey that day, Sereh sunk happily to a wooden chair, while Arrow sidled up to the fire and flopped onto her side.

Before she’d caught her breath, a steaming mug of tea was put before her, and so was a large bowl of watery looking soup.

‘My name’s Freya. I remember your father well. He was a boisterous youth. He caused havoc here. But he was also very talented. When he left to become the quarter scribe for the Eastern Quarter, the Librarian was very proud of him. It’s been too silent since he left. There’s been no new apprentice and the Librarian withdraws further into himself.’ Here she paused, deep in her reminiscing, and Sereh didn’t disturb her. It was so unusual to have anyone speak to her about her father. She smiled widely.

‘I’m sure your father told you the Librarian was already an old man when he left, over twenty rotations ago. But the older the Librarian gets the more forgotten about he becomes. Only once a rotation does anyone bother with him. He’s always pressed on some minor matter of law after the Full Council Meeting. Even our food renders are given with little thought and concern for the work he does here. I’m sorry your soup is thin and all the peat cakes for the day have been eaten.’ Freya’s tone was rueful, as her thoughts turned back to the here and now.

Sereh thought guiltily of the huge amount of food she carried in her backpack. Emma had supplied her with the hares to keep Arrow fed, and now Arrow looked at her reproachfully. She’d not been offered anything by Freya, and it didn’t look likely that she would be. Stopping, with her spoon nearly in her mouth, Sereh considered how she could present the additional food to the woman without raising any suspicions about its origin. The hares were huge compared to anything normally caught so early during the Long Day. Hoping Freya would simply accept them, Sereh pulled them from her bag.

‘Perhaps these might supplement your supplies. Please, do you have enough of this for Arrow to have some?’