‘We can go round, the long route.’ Björn looks this way and that along the river. ‘Or I can look for the safest place to cross,’ he says as if asking me the question.
‘See if you can find somewhere safe, please,’ I practically beg. There’s no way I can afford to be here for longer. He nods, and the sled disappears out of sight down into the valley.
My anxiety starts to ramp up once again, my heart quickening as I wait. Suddenly there’s a bang, like a gunshot. I shriek, and the herd jumps and scatters a little. I bite down hard on my lip to stop any more sounds coming out.
‘Björn!’ I can’t help myself: I call out and spin, stumbling and falling in the snow, righting myself to see where the sound is coming from. Oh God, what if he’s been shot, wounded? What if I’m here on my own with an injured man, or worse, and a herd of reindeer? Suddenly I see the dogs reappearing around the corner. What if he’s not with them, and it’s just the dogs on their own? Then I see him, standing upright at the back of the sled. He hasn’t been shot, and I find myself letting out a long, slow sigh of relief and finally breathing again.
‘What was it?’ I ask as soon as I think he can hear me. ‘Are you okay? I mean . . . what . . .’ I stop myself.
A slow smile pulls at his mouth. ‘For a moment there I thought you were worried about me.’
‘Just wondering what I’d do with a herd of reindeer and a dog team in the middle of nowhere,’ I bite back. The relief has gone and irritation replaces it. He laughs.
‘Really? Sounded like you were—’
Bang! Another shot. I jump. It echoes around the valley, bouncing off the snowy banks, making the herd jump again. Björn’s laughter disappears, as does my irritation. My heart is thundering. His focus is back on the snowy terrain around us.
‘It’s the ice. It’s melting in places,’ he says economically, his eyes darting around, clearly assessing things. ‘Maybe we should take the long route,’ he says finally. ‘This way could be dangerous.’
‘But the other way means days longer. I don’t have days.’
He listens, putting his gloved finger to his lips, waiting for any more signs and sounds. Then he looks at me, staring hard, as if trying to see what I’m really made of.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ He nods his head towards the river.
‘Crossing here? I’d prefer to be airlifted out, but if this is the quickest way to get where we’re going, then . . . let’s do it.’
‘Okay. But if any of the herd turn back, the rest will follow and we’ll never make it across. We’ve got just one shot at getting over before the ice starts to give. Do you understand?’
I can barely nod, but I must have done because he turns the dogs.
‘I think the ice is thickest just down here, though it’s not the shortest crossing,’ he says. My teeth chatter loudly, and I can’t stop them.
He calls to his Lapp dogs, who start moving the herd.
‘You bring up the rear on one side like before, I’ll be on the other. Just keep them moving forward,’ he calls back, ‘and don’t stray. I can’t afford for them to turn back once we start.’
Forward, yes, forward, my frozen brain repeats. I nod once in understanding.
‘Scared?’
I nod again, imperceptibly this time.
‘Being scared is always part of the journey,’ he says quietly, and then he turns back to his lead dog and calls his name. ‘Lucas!’ The dog looks up, as if sensing the importance of what is facing us. Then he slowly turns to his master, dipping his big furry head, and Björn nods back. It’s as if they’re showing each other mutual respect, owner and dog, like they have a bond all of their own.
Björn looks up and calls, ‘Hike, hike,’ and we’re off! Moving the herd forward down the snowy descent to the icy river. My heart is pounding like it’s trying to burst from my chest. There’s a whooshing in my ears that I think might be my blood crashing around my body. The reindeer’s ankles click loudly as they jostle across the icy waste, slipping occasionally as we head down the steep incline and then out onto the frozen, snow-covered river. My sled feels like it’s got a life of its own, swaying this way and that, but Rocky keeps a steady, sure-footed pace and I know, right now, that my life is in his hands. One false move and that could be it.
In the distance I hear another bang. I swing round to look at Björn, but he is focused forward. Slowly I look left and right and realise we’ve reached about halfway, right in the middle of the river. For a moment the herd seems to jostle, and my heart leaps into my mouth as I wonder if one of them is about to turn and head back.
‘Heja, heja!’ Björn urges them, waving, driving them forward, and it seems to be working. I join in, and the herd on my side keeps moving. We are beyond the halfway point now. He turns and gives me an encouraging nod. ‘Keep them going, don’t give them time to think too much, that way they can’t get scared and try to bolt,’ he calls over.
‘Heja, heja!’ I call again and wave my arm. My heart is still pounding like the hooves of a hundred reindeer, and I’m practically holding my breath. The riverbank, covered in snow-laden pine trees, is now in our sights. I turn briefly and glance back the way we’ve come. The far bank is a long way behind us now. But as I look forward once more, I see that little Robbie, the reindeer I had to round up the other day and send back to his mum, has followed my gaze. Suddenly he starts to turn.
‘Stop him! Don’t let him go back!’ Björn shouts.
‘Heja, heja!’ I shout urgently, but he’s facing the other way now. The reindeer either side of him glance at him, and by the looks of it, they’re thinking about turning too. Oh no! He’s moving back through the herd! I can’t let him! I have to stop him!
‘Grab him! Turn him round!’ Björn shouts. But the little reindeer isn’t listening to our shouts, and now another one’s coming out of the pack.
‘Lasso him!’ Björn shouts, but I have no idea how to do that. There’s only one thing I can do, and I know I only have one shot at doing it. I let go of the sled with one hand and then, holding on with the other, reach over as far as I can. I reach and then reach even further, praying I don’t tip the sled, and then I grab, feeling the antler in the palm of my hand.
‘Pull him round,’ Björn shouts, and I tug with all my strength. I know that Rocky won’t let me down and shoot off this time, and slowly I turn the little reindeer back round the other way to join the rest of the herd. The others are thankfully moving forward again, and he seems to be following. I think I may have done it; I think he’s back with the herd, and I can feel myself breathing for the first time in I don’t know how long and look up at Björn, who is actually smiling, nodding and giving me a big thumbs-up. I did it!
And then, as if I’ve been shot in the back, I hear the crack again, and the zoosh, zoosh, zoosh as the crack splits and opens up just behind the herd. The rear corner of my sled suddenly dips, unbalancing me, and we start to slide backwards, only juddering to a halt as Rocky takes the strain. The little reindeer, Robbie, turns to make another run for it, but instinct makes me grab his antler again and cling on, despite finding myself up to my knees in freezing water on the precipice of a crack in the ice.
‘Hold on! Don’t move!’ Björn calls. I really don’t intend to! I think as the freezing cold starts to seep up my trouser legs.
The lasso is off him and flying through the air and around my body in what feels like seconds.
‘Grab it and hold on! And don’t let go of the reindeer!’
I do exactly as I’m told. Björn and Rocky will need to pull together to get me, the sled and Robbie out. I only hope they can!