CHAPTER ONE

The dogs were getting closer. The boy could hear their music. Deep-throated, eighty voices together, calling as one now that they were locked on to the scent. His scent. He ran on. Low-growing hazel branches lashed his face. Brambles tore and snatched at his legs. Tree root, hidden in the leaf mould, tried to trip and bring him down. Over a fallen oak, its dead wood cracking in his hands as he grabbed and clambered. Then the stream, ice-cold and slippery under his bare feet. He paused in the mud on the far side. Where now? His heart seemed to fill his whole body and head with its thumping. The stream tinkled unconcernedly. The boy wanted to lie down and roll in it, to splash and cool his face. But there was no time. He had to run...