The following noon Shaw returned dejectedly from Brentham, where the council sat.

"Well?" asked Yedda, excitedly. "Did you have success this time?"

"They 'could not revoke' their decision," he quoted, dully.

Yedda turned away from Shaw to hide her disappointment. If only she could speak to the council, she felt sure that Shaw was either not saying or saying something that made them so obstinate.

Shaw flopped onto the settle beside the fire and rubbed his face with his hands. Yedda held out a mug of ale for him, which he took and gulped down, while Yedda sat quietly on the seat opposite him.

"I had such dreams, Yedda. Now, everything's lost, there's nothing. It will take years to get back what we had. Years! What did I do wrong, Yedda?"

"You did nothing wrong, my love. Except perhaps be too trusting." She paused. "Would Chad not help you? You no longer owe him, could you ask him to speak with Clarence? After all, he knows his father better than you, he may be able to find a way to change his mind."

"I'm tired of this Yedda. I'll go to Gilmersford tomorrow and see if I can get work there." He didn't sound too hopeful. News travelled fast and no one in Gilmersford would be willing to give him work, especially as he had paid the fine. He'd more or less admitted his guilt by doing that, but Clarence would have sent Garrett and other warriors and taken what was due - and more. It was easier to pay, than risk losing everything through force.

For the next week Shaw travelled to every village and homestead seeking any kind of smithy work. He picked up a few pennies, but nothing like what he needed. When he arrived back at Shawscote, Yedda hardly recognised him.

"Shaw? You're whiskers!"

"I had to, Yedda. Everyone had heard, I couldn't even tell people who I was. I've been calling myself Gilmer." Shaw sighed heavily. "I hope Gilmer won't mind.'

"I'm sure he won't. Come inside. The children will be pleased to see you. They've been picking apples today. Sit at the table and I'll get you something to eat." Shaw sat, not able to think of anything. Yedda spooned stew into a dish and cut a large hunk from a gritty loaf of bread and placed them in front of Shaw.

"Shaw?" He continued to stare at his food. Yedda sat down opposite him and held his rough hand in hers and slowly he looked at her face. "Shaw, you mustn't give up. You have friends here who will help. You mustn't give up, you're not beaten yet - I know you can make everything good again."

"Thank you for your faith, Yedda." Shaw kissed her hand.

"Mama! Mama! Where's Byram?" shouted Morrison, running in from the yard.

"What do you mean?"

"I went to the cow pens. There's no one there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. The pens are empty, the ferry's gone and the house is untidy."

"Come and show me." As they crossed the yard, she yelled for Shaw, who came running from the trees with an arm-load of wood. She related Morrison's story as they made their way to the vast cow pens, where cattle were held before being ferried across the river. All the pens stood vacant and the ferry was nowhere to be seen.

Shaw went into the house and re-emerged shrugging.

"The place has been ransacked. It shows all the signs of Garrett and his mob."

"I don't believe it, Shaw. I just don't believe it. Byram?"

"Well, well. It certainly looks like it, doesn't it?"

"Who else, Shaw? Byram was successful, wasn't he? There must be others. There must be."

"And why didn't he come to us?" He turned to his son, coming to a sudden decision. "Son, find Frewin and Dagwood and go back to the house with your mother. Bar the door and let no one in except me. Understand?" Morrison nodded vigorously. "Good lad, off you go."

"What are you going to do, Shaw?"

"I'm going to see Chad and Clarence, to get this sorted out, once and for all."

Shaw and Yedda hurried after the boy.

"Shaw? I wish..."

"Be ready to leave when I get back."

"Leave?" Yedda was astounded. "We can't leave, Shaw. The children..."

"We did it once before, remember?"

"Yes, but that was before..."

"We'll manage."

"We've no money and very little food. Shaw..."

"I said, we'll manage, Yedda. We'll go to Morrishaw first. Now go! Get ready!"

Yedda was anxiously watching for Shaw from the window, when she saw him come running through the trees. She yanked the bar from the door and hurried out to meet him.

"Well?" she asked.

"We couldn't stay now even if we wanted to. We have to be out of the district by morning."

"Oh, Shaw! Where shall we go?"

"I told you. To Morrishaw first. Then we'll see."
The family slept under the trees of the forest that night, and at first light were on the road towards the lake where Shaw's father lived.

"Yedda?" She turned to him and saw a haunted expression in his eyes. "I've seen this coming for some time. But I never thought we'd be affected by this..." he threw a gesture to the trees, unable to say the word. "I really thought that we'd found our niche at last, that we'd be the last people to leave. Isn't it strange, the way things turn out?"

They rounded the last bend in the road and the sight before them made them all stop in their tracks. The area was renowned for its beauty and Shaw had felt lucky to have grown up in a place which, unlike so many places, was more or less still unspoilt by people wanting land to farm.

What they saw was unbelievable. All the trees were gone and those that remained were scorched and looked sick. As the family advanced in wonder, the children kicked up a very fine dust which on closer inspection proved to be wood ash and covered the whole area.

The roofs of Maurice's farm buildings could be seen over the top of a small rise.

"Shaw, it looks so strange without the trees. What do you think happened here?"

"How should I know. Let's find Maurice."

They rounded the small headland and approached the buildings with familiarity. Shaw noticed a new door here, a mended roof there and a new extension on the side of the house.

Suddenly, a large dog hurtled from a dark doorway and began barking ferociously at the little group. Dagwood was startled by the noise and began to cry noisily.

A man appeared from the house brandishing a glaive-like weapon, demanding to know what they wanted.

"We've come to see Maurice," Shaw explained.

"Maurice? Maurice? Who's Maurice?" bellowed the fellow.

"He's my father. He lives here. Has done for the last forty-six years. Who are you? What are you doing in my father's house.?" Shaw was beginning to get angry. How dare this person be in his father's house? Where was Maurice anyway? Perhaps he was a hired hand. Shaw went forward, hoping to talk sensibly to the man instead of shouting at each other across the dusty yard.

"I've been here two years now. Found it all ramshackle and falling down. No one here then called Maurice, no one here now called Maurice, so get off my land!"

"But this was my home, for seventeen years I lived here!"

"This is my home, my land and I want you off it, now!" He advanced towards Shaw waving his weapon threateningly and Shaw backed away.

"What have you done to the trees? Surely there was no need to..."

"Can't graze on trees, fella. Can't plant under trees. Had to come down."

"But so many."

"Shaw, Shaw. Come away." Yedda pulled at Shaw's sleeve, encouraging him to leave the yard and rejoin the road.

"Yedda. What shall we do? The children need somewhere to live, winter will be here soon."

They disappeared back into the forest to spend another night outdoors. Shaw was very depressed. His father had disappeared, he'd lost his home, his friends and his pride.

"I've nothing left, Yedda. Nothing. What am I supposed to do now? Tell me! What?!"

"Shaw, you still have us, your family. We don't need much of anything." Shaw looked at his wife and the two boys asleep in a heap near the protecting fire and then at Dagwood, asleep in her mother's arms and stroked her hair, which fell in fair, natural ringlets about her chubby face. "Please, Shaw. Don't give up. This is as hard for me as it is for you. You're right. We'll find somewhere for the children, but don't worry about that now. Just go to sleep, you need to rest. It's going to be all right. It'll work out." She paused and looked first at the children and then at Shaw. "I can work too. Times will get rough and we'll all have to work - I don't doubt it. Just don't give up, Shaw. Please don't give up!" She ended rather desperately, knowing that her husband was now a bitter man, having lost everything of value that he had worked so hard to earn.

The following morning Yedda and the children awoke to find husband and father gone from the tiny clearing where they had spent the night. Yedda had a moment of panic before remembering where they were, and taking the children, she went to the place were she knew she would find Shaw.

She left the children within the shelter of the familiar old oak, telling Morrison to keep Frewin and Dagwood amused and continued down the road alone.

The sound of fast-running, turbulent water drifted up to Yedda on the early morning breeze that had already scattered the wisps of mist. She remembered the first time she had come this way and smiled with amusement. Then suddenly she frowned as she saw Shaw on the bridge. It was a rather precarious wooden structure jammed into the gorge, with the water tumbling some hundred feet below.

Shaw was leaning on the rail with his elbows, his head in his hands. Yedda went to stand beside him and tentatively put one hand on his head and the other on his forearm.

"I've got to get away from here, Yedda. I can't take anymore of this." He turned to his wife and she saw tears in his eyes. "I've been standing here for ages watching the water. You know, it's exactly the same. It hasn't changed over the years. It's totally unaffected by anything, it just flows on and on and on." He hugged Yedda tightly and gently kissed the top of her head. "We'll go onto the next town for the winter, shall we? There's bound to be work there."