When the first hint of sunlight painted the treetops in gold, I was back at the edge of the council house, boots heavy with dew and pine needles stuck to my coat. The forest had been calm, eerily so. There was not a single twig cracked where it shouldn't or no tracks where they didn’t belong. 

I had expected the night to test me, but nothing came. There was no shadow in the trees and no whispered warning from the wind. There was just silence. Maybe that was the real test.

I ...