Morg sat flat down. She thought for a moment of finding the hunt, of telling her father what had happened. But she'd never catch them, and anyway they would not believe her. When the boar had turned and gone back into the forest she'd thought that the goddess had answered her prayer, that the boar was a test. The boar was, after all, a sacred animal. Maybe the goddess had taken on its form. She had hoped it was a sign that she would be allowed to go on the hunt. But now the hunt had moved on and she knew that no-one had heard. Her voice was too small, too unimportant. Probably the goddess was angry with her.