Screech held up a scrap of fabric, tattered and bloodied long ago. This was the fifth or sixth one we’d found – I forget which. Every single one of them had the same sigil on them – a pentacle with two Courser’s on it. Both Coursers were biting each other in the neck. I couldn’t even begin to fathom what that was supposed to symbolise.

I looked over at Moritz, who walked over to take a look. Screech rotated it so that Moritz could see the sigil properly.

I raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say ‘what do you make of this?’

Moritz stared at the sigil for a long while, before turning to me and raising his eyebrow in return. Fine, he wouldn’t tell me, and wanted me to figure it out. I continued to stare at the sigil. I know Moritz was patient enough that he wouldn’t break and leave first – either I needed to leave and admit I didn’t know, or figure this out.

Two coursers, both biting each other in the neck. It could just be an expression of rage, of fury, a declaration that you would take on the whole world. But my instincts were telling me that that interpretation was wrong. I thought for a while. It could be a symbol of futility, of mutually assured destruction – you bit my neck, and I’ll bite yours. We’ll both die, there will be no winners in this battle. Looking around this desolate, foggy moor, that seemed a fitting option, but my instincts still told me that I was wrong.

I stood completely still, just thinking. Moritz also stood still, but somehow seemed more comfortable with it.

Finally, I turned to face Moritz and I spoke. ‘I don’t know.’

I turned and walked off, and Screech dropped the fabric to follow me, leaving it fluttering in the gentle breeze as it fell.