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them the cold soon made her fingers next to useless. She sighed. It was almost worth leaving the rip in the knee of her trews unmended, were it not for the wind that found its way through the smallest gap in her clothing and pinched her hard enough to make her yelp. She sucked the blood away and tried once more to stitch the rent.
    A dead tree had tripped her, sent her crashing down on hands and knees. Her mittens had saved her palms, but her trews had torn on the same sharp-edged rock that had gouged her flesh. Following her instructions, one of the other women had cleaned the wound and dressed it with some of Ana’s salve, but the ragged fabric was proving more bothersome.
    I should have thought to bring another pair. His sealskin ones, or even the elk-hide – something that would have stood up to rough treatment better than this wool. She puffed and grunted, straining past her belly to make the first stitch. Or at least something else I could have put on to stay warm whilst I mend these! Macha, I’m so cold. Another stitch and she fell back gasping. This would take for ever.
    Neve appeared around the blanket that made the door to the women’s shelter, carrying a steaming bowl. ‘Tea, Banfaíth,’ she said, setting it down next to Teia.
    It was colourless, little more than hot water; the leaves had been reused too many times to have much left to give. She picked it up and sipped. Flavourless as well, but at least it was hot.
    ‘Thank you, Neve.’
    The other woman sat back on her heels. ‘You’ll burn your eyes, stitching in that poor light,’ she said, taking the needle from Teia’s numb fingers. ‘Fetch it closer and I’ll see to the mending.’
    Wordless, grateful, Teia sent her little globe of light to hover over Neve’s capable hands. She didn’t even object as Baer’s woman unpicked her clumsy stitches and started again. Banfaíth she might be to her little clan, but in the women’s tent she was no more than a girl again. Neve saw to that.
    Teia leaned back on her arms and tried to ignore the ache in her lower back. Moving into the women’s tent had been her idea; it had felt wrong to her that the men should spend time constructing a separate shelter for her, just because she was the Banfaíth, before they could begin work on one for their families. It made more sense to have just two shelters, she had argued, one for men and one for women, which the warmth of their bodies could heat against the night’s chill. She had expected an argument from the men, but without Baer, Isaak did not feel strong enough to stand up to her and the rest of the menfolk followed his lead.
    ‘He’s gone, isn’t he?’ asked Neve quietly, head bent over her sewing. ‘Dead.’
    ‘I don’t know. I hope not.’
    ‘Ought to have been back with us by now. It’d take more than a bit of snow to stop my man.’ She twitched the rest of the rent closed and held it taut with one hand as the other dipped and drew, dipped and drew. ‘Reckon dead makes most sense.’ Her voice was brisk, dispassionate.
    Reaching out, Teia touched Neve’s arm. ‘I haven’t given up hope.’
    ‘Aye, well.’ Neve tied off the thread and snapped it around her fingers. She handed the needle back but didn’t meet Teia’s eye. ‘Hope don’t keep me warm at night, is all.’
    ‘I can scry him out, if you like.’
    The older woman hesitated. ‘You can see where he is?’
    ‘Not exactly, but maybe I can tell if he’s—’ She almost said if he’s alive , then corrected herself at the last minute. ‘If he’s safe.’ Surely she knew Baer well enough by now to seek him out.
    Neve fussed with her shawl, folding and refolding her arms over it. Teia guessed she wanted to know but was afraid of what she might learn.
    As gently as she could, she said, ‘At least then you’d know, one way or the other.’
    The older woman worked her hands deeper under her armpits and gave a crisp nod. ‘True enough. I’ll fetch some water, shall I?’
    Teia