So she had no option but to lie where she was, in hope of regaining her vigour naturally.

She couldn’t tell how long she was there; she was feverish, and such rational thoughts as she had were on matters other than the mere passing of time. They mostly concerned the retribution she would exact on her father, her sister and the hated Wolverines. If she ever got to see them again.

The day slid into evening. It began to get dark, and cooler. Overhead, stars were appearing.

She heard a sound. It took a moment for her to identify it as an approaching horse. The animal was plodding slowly, and coupled with the squeak of wheels and the jangling of chains it became obvious it was pulling a wagon. It came to a halt close by. Someone dismounted. There was the crunch of boots on gravel, then an absence of sound as whoever it was walked onto the grass.

Somebody gazed down at her. She could only make out that it was a human male, and he was robustly built. He stared for what seemed an age. Not just at her nakedness, but her general appearance. By any yardstick she was beautiful, but her beauty had aspects most observers found disquieting. Her singular eyes were part of it, as was the perplexing configuration of her features: a face a mite too wide, particularly at the temples; a chin that came almost to a point; a vaguely convex nose; a shapely but overly broad mouth, and a mass of coal black, waist-length hair. But it was her skin that was most arresting. It had a slight silver-green lustre, and a dappled character that gave the impression she was covered in minute fish scales.

She was fully aware of the depraved nature of the man’s race, more than once having admired their inexhaustible cruelty. If his intentions had been dishonourable in any way there wouldn’t have been much she could have done about it.