17
By mid afternoon, Thorbjorn and I were back at the hill where Freygunnar had been taken by the Wild Hunt. The marks from the horses, dogs, and weapons of the men were still visible in the snow, but the bird wing patterns were almost gone. The few that remained were mostly close to the trees, where the wind hadn't reached them nor the warmth of the sun at midday.
"Which tree?" Thorbjorn asked. We were both avoiding climbing the hill itself by mutual unspoken agreement.
"Over here," I said, leading the way just a little further south to where the lightning-blasted tree still stood. "See, there is where I was sitting when I woke up this morning."
"Where were you last night before you found yourself inside the tree?" he asked.
I looked around. I remembered shrubbery that had offered no
