I am in the company of some amazing men. They blend in with the land so well that they seem to move invisibly, even though the full foliage has not yet returned to the woods. Amlaidh and I do our best to imitate the stealthy ways of our fellow hunters yet we obviously still have much to learn.

We are tracking the bandits along the riverside. Even though it has been quite a while since the attack on Ceirdwyn's family, a sharp eyed scout picks up a few traces that look like a number of men hurried this way around the time of the rain at Imbolc, when the ground was soaked then promptly froze again. Their footprints were preserved, deeply engraved in the bank where they apparently forded. And so we spread out and comb towards the west. I am intent on the ground, scanning until I am squint-eyed for any signs of recent trespass. The liquid warble of a thrush sounds nearby, then another from across the glen.

"A signal!" Amlaidh hisses through the reeds. "Come, they've found something."

We rush in the direction of the birdcall to find everyone already gathered around a small depression in the turf. I gaze curiously at the spot but can discern nothing of outstanding interest.

"They made a campfire here," someone says and the others all nod solemnly. Felann squats down and picks up a handful of earth, sifting through his fingers. Then he looks to the west for a moment, breathing deeply through his nose like a hound searching for a scent.

"This way," he announces abruptly, and we are off again.

For three days we shadow the riverside. The bandits seem to have kept to this same path - moving quickly towards Tara, then suddenly veering south.