Catcalls. Whistles. Callm hadn't even clambered out the cave mouth, when his ears were assaulted by the cacophony.

"What the--?" He blinked in the bright winter sunlight. The blizzard had stopped and a fine tang of frost nipped his nostrils. "All right, lads. Fine. That racket will be heard all the way to Glen Gurkie. Do you want the tinker chief here on our backs?"

He feigned good humor, making a silencing gesture, although cold sweat lay on his skin. What the hell ...