We face the dogs, our backs to the tribe’s camp.

I hear a branch swish behind us, and a shadow is cast by a flaming stick. We turn to see them standing there: five men, lips parted, thick, stinking furs tied at their waists, all bigger than us. Much bigger. The sort of big that you only get in dreams.

Okay, now is probably a good time to wake up. I try to catch Seb’s eye.

The nearest man whistles, and the dogs respond by taking two paces towards us, growling louder. Beside me, little Erin whimpers. Another whistle, and the dogs creep forward, forcing us to retreat towards the biggest man. Then he gives a command and the dogs stop. We are the length of two people from them and the big man grins and nods. Without turning his head, he says something in his own language to the others and they laugh and point their spears at us. One of them has a short bow and arrow, and the leather string creaks as he pulls it back.

The tall one takes three strides until he’s in front of me. His flaming stick smells of burning fat: a strip of something is wrapped round the end and it spits as it burns. He moves the flame close to me and I arch backwards.

‘Seb,’ I murmur. ‘Get ready to wake up. I don’t like this.’

I stare back at the man. His big eyes, like the others’, are almost black, topped with a single, dense bush of eyebrow, and below his hooked nose is a tangled, square moustache. He steps closer and moves the flame from my feet to my head, then he reaches out his hand and I try not to flinch as he runs it over my chest, then across my chin. I hear myself squeaking with fear.

‘Seb. He’s just touched me. Let’s get out of here!’

The man growls slowly and then says two words, in English this time, that send a chill through me.

‘Take them.’