Few things live far to the frozen north, in the scatter islands of ice and unbreakable stone. The ice storms and snowfalls would gobble up many a lost traveller if not for The Pathlighter.

There may be more than one, no one can say for sure, but the snow rises into a form both alien and familiar. For me, an owl shone the way, it’s fake eyes closed gently while the true one shone like fire through the endless grey-white of the snow. It didn’t move but always kept ahead, sliding through the ice as a swam may cross a lake, without the faintest trace of effort.

As soon as it meets the borders of a settlement it fades away again, leaving its follower to wonder if it was real at all, or just a dream.