The fire had died when Unn woke; even the embers were gone. She found the flint and steel on the shelf and lit an oil lamp.
There was a patch of ice by the hearth, and hairy frost around the door. Unn sighed, put her coat on, and built a new fire.
“Not dead yet?” a voice called from the smoke-hole in the thatch.
Unn looked up, but only saw the dark sky.
“Who’s there?”
There was a rustle from above, then silence. Unn woke her father, who went out to check.
“Nobody, no footprints, nothing.”