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the night before, but now brighter and more defined, the grass surrounding it greener in the rising sun. Rachel considered her dream. Where it had come from was clear enough. But what did it mean?
    Who were the two strange figures? A knight and a maiden…?
    Rachel’s thoughts were interrupted by her grandmother’s shrill voice from the bottom of the stairs.
    “Rachel! Adam…”
    Rachel pulled herself back into the room, catching the back of her head on the window frame. She yelped in pain, waking her brother.
    Adam groaned and pulled the blankets over his head.
    Rachel rubbed her head and called back weakly, “Coming, Gran…”
    Adam had been particularly reluctant to get out of bed, still claiming jet lag and a sore nose from the day before. It was understandable, but, despite her own tiredness and a slight bump on the back of her head, Rachel felt strangely energized. Excited, even.
    Granny Root seemed a little more at ease, too. It was a lovely morning and the old lady heartily encouraged them to eat a mountain of toast and several bowls of lumpy porridge. Maybe the whole storm thing had affected everyone’s mood the day before, Rachel thought. Atmospheric pressure, or something.
    Half an hour later, Rachel and Adam stood at the end of the garden behind the house, looking across the moor at the chalk circle.
    “I can’t believe it’s that old.”
    Adam’s interest in the place had suddenly perked up over breakfast, when their grandmother explained to them about the chalk circle. The three-bladed shape within the outer circle gave the village its name: Triskellion. There were many theories as to its significance, but most agreed that it was a Celtic symbol, formed by three, intersecting circles, and was anything up to three thousand years old.
    “Nothing’s three thousand years old.” Adam shook hishead in disbelief as he and Rachel waded across the dewy grass, looking at the carved shape in the distance. A high breeze sent the shadows of clouds racing across the moor and over the Triskellion itself, making the landscape appear to move; fluid somehow, more alive.
    The circle, when they finally got there, was far less impressive than it had been from a distance. For five minutes Adam traced out the chalky grooves while Rachel looked in vain for the footprints of the boy she had seen the night before.
    “I mean, it’s so, like … big,” Adam said.
    Rachel looked back towards the village. “Maybe so you can see it from a long way away.”
    “That’s just it though,” Adam said. “How did they know what they were cutting out without seeing it from above?”
    Rachel looked down on the curve of chalk at her feet, and conceded that her brother, with his customary, pedantic logic, had a very good point.
    The vast open space of the moor was a novelty for Rachel and Adam, accustomed as they were to the skyscraper-hemmed streets of their native city. In the same way that looking up at tall buildings can make some people dizzy, the wide space and expanse of sky suddenly began to make Rachel feel unsteady on her feet. Unsteady, until Adam shoved her playfully, and ran. Rachel recovered herself and laughed, chasing her brother over the spongy moss of the moor, which gave extra spring to her footsteps.
    They ran and ran and then stopped, out of breath; as they panted, they saw the village far behind them. After their experiences the day before, they were happy enough to head away from the village, and continued on towards the regimented line of pine trees that bounded the eastern border of the moor.
    A green sign at the edge of the forest declared that this was Waverley Woods, part of the Waverley Hall estate, though there was nothing to suggest that it was either private or out of bounds. Rachel and Adam peered into the forest, which was dense with the fingers of tall pines. To one side lay a huge stack of logs where the fast-growing trees had been cut for timber. A straight, narrow track had been beaten between