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the rest of Connor’s words. Finn felt drops on his face as if it was snowing again, but there was only blue sky overhead. The snow had come alive, turning into a roaring beast, chasing them down the hillside.
    Now Finn ran, Connor close behind him. There was a big tree a little down the slope, one he had climbed a few times. They might be able to reach that. It was hard to keep his footing in the deep snow. Twice he tumbled over. Each time Connor picked him up, only to stagger himself a few paces on. Finn felt cold biting at the back of his neck, jaws of snow snapping at him.
    He saw the tree, an old oak, its bulky trunk wide and tall, an upturned wrist and hand grasping at the sky. Once you reached the palm it was easy enough to climb. He just hoped the trunk wasn’t too slippery with ice.
    ‘This one,’ shouted Finn. Connor couldn’t possibly hear him but he nodded as Finn pointed. They ran around the tree, downslope from the thundering snow. Connor looked up into the branches then cupped his hands to give Finn a leg-up. It struck Finn that Connor was terrified too. He had thought, somehow, that all of this, the snow coming to life, the avalanche, was Connor’s doing. A trap he’d planned all along. But the other boy’s eyes were wide with fear.
    Finn stepped into the offered hands and Connor boosted him up to the lowest branch. Finn hauled himself into the tree and, lying wedged between the forking branches, reached back down for Connor.
    The world was a blizzard now, the ground and the other trees gone, only Connor’s hand visible reaching though the teeming white. Finn could feel the whole tree shuddering as a mountainside of snow slammed into it. He reached down and grasped Connor’s hand, pulling him up with a huge effort. They sat there together for a moment, both out of breath.
    ‘Come on,’ shouted Connor. ‘We have to climb higher!’
    ‘What’s happening?’ Finn shouted back. But Connor was already scrambling upwards. Finn glanced down. The boiling snow was nearer, as if the whole tree was sinking into the ground. He turned and climbed after Connor.
    They stopped when they could go no farther, high, high up in the ancient tree. The trunk was little thicker than Finn’s own thighs here. They clung on as the tree swayed and jolted beneath them: clung onto the tree and to each other. When Finn closed his eyes it felt as if the oak was lurching to the ground, whipping backwards and forwards. He gulped down helpless, terrified tears, sobs racking his whole body, glad that the snow was too loud for Connor to hear him.
     
    The avalanche ended as abruptly as it had started. The roaring died away and sunlight found them again. Their tree had stayed upright, although many around had not. A broken pine lay with its top caught in a nearby oak, its trunk like a ramp down to the ground.
    Finn looked at Connor. They had both been crying. They let go of each other. It was suddenly very quiet. No birds sang, as if they had all been swept away by the snow. What would happen now? He was conscious of being up there alone with the older boy. He was too weary to fight. He wanted his father to come and carry him off home.
    The older boy began to laugh, then, full of glee. Finn stared at him, amazed. What was he laughing at? Connor whooped with delight, shouting at the stunned forest all around them.
    ‘Hah! Didn’t get us, did you? Can’t catch us! Hah!’
    He looked ridiculous, bawling out to nobody at all. Finn found himself grinning at the sight of him, then chuckling as well. Soon they were both roaring with laughter, until Finn’s cheeks hurt and sharp pain stabbed him in the side. If either of them stopped, the sight of the other trying not to laugh just started them off again.
    ‘Hey avalanche! You missed us!’ Finn shouted.
    For five minutes or more neither could stop laughing. Finally, still grinning and giggling, they sat down next to each other in a crook of the branches.
    ‘Why … why were you