Where the Woods Grow Wild

Copyright ©2016 Nate Philbrick

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in reviews.

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events (not likely) are coincidental.

To readers who aren’t afraid to get lost in the woods once in a while.

And to Lydia, my first and most enthusiastic reader. Keep using that imagination, little sister.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 · The Woods

Chapter 2 · Martin Half-Handed

Chapter 3 · The Servant of Nayadu

Chapter 4 · From Floodweed to Fanged Fledglings

Chapter 5 · A Badger Ride

Chapter 6 · Mad King Prickle

Chapter 7 · The Dryad Palace

Chapter 8 · Poisoned Veins

Chapter 9 · Flight to the Minnowchuck

Chapter 10 · The Trunder

Chapter 11 · Predator and Prey

Chapter 12 · One Dark Step

Chapter 13 · Brass Rings and Black Wings

Chapter 14 · Martin

Chapter 15 · Champion of the Woods

Chapter 16 · No More Running

Chapter 17 · The Hardest Words

Chapter 18 · Home

1. The Woods

A quiet pigpen on wash day meant trouble. Martin Colter dumped his last armload of firewood into the bin and listened. Bardun Village’s clock tower bells had announced the change of the hour some time ago, yet no kicking or squealing or yelling was to be heard.

Martin plucked a splinter from his forearm on his way around the stable to the pigpen behind the Cabbage Cart Inn. Sure enough, the two white pigs, Edgar and Evangeline, romped unattended. Their trough remained empty, the fence gate stood ajar, and drying mud caked Evangeline from hoof to swirly tail. Edgar wheezed and trotted away to take his turn in the puddle. There was no sign of Percy Durbity.

Martin nudged the gate shut with his foot. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned the pigs. “Wash day is wash day. I’ll fetch Percy.” He gave Evangeline a pat on the head before picking his way through a field of buckets and tools to the inn’s back door.

A smog of dim light and garlic fumes enveloped him as soon as the door clattered shut behind him. He worked his way to the kitchen, wrinkling his nose out of habit. Two piles of pots, kettles, and cauldrons squared off from opposite sides of the room, and the counter space and dish pit quailed between them in the back.

A gnarly pot the size of a barrel crouched by the bottom of the left pile. Martin checked to make sure it was empty. Then he folded his arms and listened again. A faint scratching noise caught his attention from the cupboard under the counter.

Martin flung the cupboard open. A mousy boy peeped out at him with round eyes and an open mouth. His knees almost touched his forehead in the cramped space. The boy clutched a quill in one hand and a scrap of greasy paper in the other.

Martin sighed. “Get out, Percy.”

The boy nodded frantically and did his best to comply, only to discover he was properly stuck. It took Martin a good bit of prying and pulling to extract him, but eventually Percy popped out like a cork from a bottle. He hopped up, dusted himself off, and looked thoroughly embarrassed.

“I didn’t think you’d find me in there,” he said. “I guess I ought to find a better hiding spot next time.”

“No,” said Martin. “You ought to be washing Edgar and Evangeline. They haven’t been fed, either. Just be glad I checked on them before Stump did. What kept you?”

“I know it’s wash day,” Percy squeaked. “I fully meant to go scrub those dreadful beasts, but, you see, I bought this wonderful quill and some ink with last month’s pay, and I wanted to write a letter to Mother, but the wagon man told me he was leaving for Aldenturf promptly after his supper and wouldn’t wait for anyone, so I had to get it done fast, and—well, mother really wants to know how I’m doing and that I haven’t run off or gotten sick or been eaten, so—”

“Let me see.” Martin snatched the unfinished letter and ran his finger along the lines. Halfway down, he raised his eyebrows. “‘The Cabbage Cart is a good place to work, and Martin is a good partner, and our boss is good...’” He grabbed the quill out of Percy’s hand. “You’ve got most of it wrong already. Let me fix it.”

He found a dry island among the grease puddles on the counter to write on. “The Cabbage Cart is a garden short of a literal cabbage, and Martin is an excellent partner. He makes sure I don’t get in trouble, since our boss is a one-eyed radish named Hergelo Stump—”

Percy broke out in laughter. “I wish I was clever like that.”

“It’s a truer version than yours,” said Martin, “and it’ll make your mother smile. Now go clean the pigs. You’ll have time to send it later if you work quickly. I’d help, but I’ve just finished with the firewood and my hands are full down here.” He glared at the dirty pots out of the corner of his eye.

Percy took the letter, stuffed it in his pocket, and scampered out the door, leaving Martin to wage war against layers of grease.

The monotonous work numbed Martin’s mind, so he wasn’t sure how much time had passed before footsteps clattered down the hall. The runner tripped and hit the floor.

A moment later, Percy stuck his panting face into the steam clouds. “Mr. Stump sent me to fetch you, Martin.” His eyes watered in the kitchen’s pungent swirls. “You’d best hurry, he’s going all red!”

“Did you finish the pigs?”

“I washed Evangeline, but Edgar won’t let me get close. Mr. Stump told me it could wait. I don’t know what he wants, but it must be important!”

Martin wiped his hands on his shirt. Stump had a knack for pulling Martin away from one task to give him another. He also had a knack for turning red, but he usually bellowed from his upside-down bucket until Martin or Percy showed up. As unpleasant as an audience with Hergelo Stump tended to be, Martin was curious.

He made his way down the hall with Percy at his heel. They wound farther into the Cabbage Cart’s dungeons until they rounded a corner and entered Stump’s bucket domain. Stump and his makeshift throne filled two thirds of the hall’s width, leaving precious little room for the girl standing beside him.

She was young, near Martin’s own age, with blond hair and cornflower eyes. She wore a blouse and skirt dyed the mayor’s indigo blue—she was the mayor’s courier. The girl caught Martin’s eye with a confident smile.

Percy tugged on Martin’s sleeve. “She’s pretty,” he whispered.

“Shut up, Percy.”

Hergelo Stump shifted a portion of his weight to glower at Percy with his one good eye. A leather patch covered the other one. “What are you still doing here, little scallion? Get back to the pigs.” A scowl creased his jowls.

Percy was gone in a flash.

“And you,” said Stump to Martin. “Tuck in your shirt for the lady.”

Martin fumbled to do as he was told. He jammed three of his fingers on his belt in the process. The courier averted her gaze with a stiff chin.

“So, errand-girl,” said Stump, “what business does the mayor have with my employee? Spit it out—he belongs in the kitchen.”

The courier straightened her shoulders in a most official manner. “Mayor Clarenbald requests Mr. Colter’s services, Mr. Stump, for a matter that cannot wait. Mr. Colter must accompany me immediately.”

Stump hacked out a laugh. “Not a chance. Too many dishes to scrub before the evening crowd.” He aimed a kick at Martin that almost tipped him from his bucket. “Get back to work. I’ll handle her.”

The courier tapped her foot. “I’m afraid the mayor’s purposes supersede the need for clean kitchenware, Mr. Stump.”

Stump squinted at her. “What purposes might those be?”

The courier whipped out a document sealed with wax. She broke the seal under Stump’s nose and cleared her throat to read. “To the respectable Hergelo Stump, owner of the Cabbage Cart Inn, south Bardun Village. I’ve sent my speediest courier—” she curtsied “—to borrow your faithful employee, Mr. Martin Colter, for a matter of significant urgency. I understand the Cabbage Cart relies heavily on his services, but I’m sure you can spare him. Sincerest thanks, Horatio Clarenbald, Mayor of Bardun Village. P.S. Please note that no pay is to be extracted from—”

Stump yanked the document from her hands. “Now, see here...” He examined the paper and wax with a frown so contorted, his lips wrapped halfway around his chin.

The courier waited with her hands behind her back.

After a few choice mutterings and a shake of his head, Stump shoved the document in her general direction. “Fine then, take him. Mark my words, scrub, those pots aren’t going anywhere. Hurry back.”

The courier re-folded her notice from the mayor. “Please, Mr. Colter, come with me.”

Martin followed her down the hall, through the inn’s empty common room, and out the front door. After spending so much time in the dank kitchens, he had to blink against the daylight. He welcomed the clean air and fresh smells. The courier led him across the cobblestone street before speaking.

“Mr. Stump was right,” she said. “You should always tuck in your shirt when in the presence of a lady.”

Martin grinned. “That was brilliant, Elodie.”

Elodie bounced on her toes. “Wasn’t it, though? You have no idea how much fun it was to sneak around Clarenbald’s study and write the notice. I would’ve rescued you sooner, but I had to wait for the mayor to leave for his afternoon tea. You were right, by the way. It does smell like hot onions—the inn, not the tea.”

“So,” said Martin, “what urgent business must I tend to for the mayor?”

Elodie resumed her air of importance. “According to one of the maids, the summer clover is finally blooming in the fields. You must escort me there, because clover buds are my favorite, and I want to lie down in them and stare at the sky, and I work for the mayor so I can do whatever I want.”

“Won’t he realize you’re missing?”

She rolled her eyes. “You underestimate how long he takes to have tea. Besides, I’m a courier, so anyone who saw me leave won’t think twice about it.”

Martin offered his arm. “Very well. I accept your request.”

Elodie slipped her hand through his elbow. “As long as you don’t get in too much trouble with old Stump.”

“Don’t worry,” said Martin. “He only kicks Percy.”

Elodie stifled a laugh. “That poor little mouse needs to learn not to stand too close to the bucket when he’s called for.”

They strolled down the street. Elodie talked about her day running errands for the mayor. Most of her story revolved around a live fish from the pond and the apron pocket of an unlucky maid. Then Martin told Elodie about Percy’s letter and how he had fixed it for him. Elodie found that part especially amusing.

“A letter to your own mother wouldn’t hurt, you know. Imagine how she must feel when Mrs. Durbity gets a letter every few months and she gets nothing.”

“My mother knows what the Cabbage Cart is like,” said Martin. “What else do I have to tell her about? Besides, the crone she looks after is rich enough to own three wagons, but my mother hasn’t made the trip a single time since she left.”

“She probably can’t fathom why you stayed here in the first place.”

“I’m sure she’s figured it out by now,” he mumbled.

Elodie shook her head, but Martin caught her smile nonetheless.

The Cabbage Cart was one of the last buildings on the south side of town, so Martin and Elodie soon left the street for a narrow spit of dirt road that cut through grass fields. Stone walls abandoned to moss and laurel bushes hemmed the road on either side, and tufts of grass rivaled wagon ruts for control of the road itself.

Elodie got into a game of hopping from one patch of grass to the next without her feet touching the dirt. Martin picked grass sprigs and lobbed them at her hair. He stuck four of them before she noticed.

Elodie turned on him with a click of her tongue. “Honestly, are you trying to turn me into a haystack? Those are hard to pick out, you know.”

The road curved around a holly grove and an old farmhouse. There, they squeezed through a gap in the wall and came out in the fields. Just as Elodie had said, clover buds sprinkled the fields in yellow. Elodie kicked off her shoes and ran around for a while. Then she flung herself in the clover and spread her arms out. She closed her eyes and breathed deep through her nose.

“Doesn’t it smell divine out here?”

Martin folded his hands under his head beside her, forgetting about the Cabbage Cart along with anything else unpleasant. Now and again one of them shared a random thought out loud, or tossed clover in the other’s face, or pointed out the smell of dirty pots on Martin’s clothes. For the most part, however, they enjoyed the sun and each other’s company in silence.

That silence didn’t last long, shattered by the telltale squeal of a pig.

“Oh, no,” Martin groaned. He sat up. “Percy.”

“That didn’t sound like Percy,” said Elodie.

“No, I meant—oh, why must Percy be Percy?”

They heard another squeal. A faint shout followed it.

Martin reluctantly rose from the grass. For a moment, all was still. Then a white canon ball burst from the gap in the wall and zoomed straight at them.

Martin waved his hands. “Edgar, stop!”

Edgar did not stop. He wheezed and huffed his way across the field in a mad bid for porcine freedom. Before Martin could react, his feet flew up and he landed on his back with the wind knocked out of him. Elodie rolled with laughter. Nothing remained of Edgar except a parting snort and a path torn through the clover.

Martin groaned again and picked himself up. By that time, a breathless and crestfallen Percy Durbity doubled over beside them.

“That pig,” the boy said between gulps of air. “That hog. That wretched swine! I tried to wash him, but he didn’t like it, and I left the gate open by mistake, and now...” He threw his hands in the air. “This is all my fault, and Mr. Stump will kick me harder than ever if he finds out. Please, Martin, you have to help me get Edgar. I’m not big or strong enough, but you are.”

Martin struggled to keep his tongue in check. Of all the people to ruin an otherwise splendid evening, Percy was the most annoying, without a doubt.

“You should help him, Martin,” said Elodie.

“But…” All the excuses he thought of sounded pathetic. “Fine, but don’t blame me if Edgar comes back on a spit.”

“Get going, then. You won’t find him after dark. Percy can’t take many more kicks before turning into Stump’s permanent footstool. I should head back, but I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Martin watched her go until Percy tapped his arm.

“I’m awful sorry,” he said. “I know you were on an important job for Mayor Clarenbald. Edgar runs real fast when he sees soap. Faster than me, I’m afraid.”

Martin turned to follow Edgar’s escape trail. “Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

The swathe Edgar had left in his wake allowed Martin and Percy to jog across the field toward the woods. Martin kept his ears open for snorts or wheezes, hoping the pig had tuckered out, but he gave up that hope by the time the forest shade fell over them. Martin and Percy pulled up in front of the oak wall.

“He went in,” said Martin.

“I’ve never been this far from town,” said Percy. “Look, you can only see the top of the clock tower from here.”

“In a few hours we won’t be able to see anything, so let’s be quick. I don’t want to get fired, and you don’t want to get kicked, but both will happen if we don’t find Edgar.”

Martin stepped past the first few trees, but Percy stayed put.

“Hurry up,” said Martin.

“I don’t think I should,” said Percy. “This is the forest, you know. I can’t go in there.” His eyes trailed up the tall trunks, getting bigger the higher he looked. “This is scary.”

“They’re just trees, Percy.”

Percy shook his head. “Mother left me a list of things I ought to do and ought not to do, and right between ‘you ought to wash your feet twice a day’ and ‘you ought to smile at people and say hello’—that’s a hard one—she wrote ‘you ought not to go in the forest, not ever.’ Sometimes I get it all confused and say hello to my feet twice a day, but I know for sure I ought not to disobey Mother.”

“Then I’ll find Edgar by myself. You owe me.”

“Thanks, Martin, you’re the best. Someday I’ll be brave enough to go in, but right now, nuh-uh.” Percy eyed the forest one last time. “I’m gonna finish the rest of my work extra fast today so I can send my letter.”

Percy waved and skipped toward the road, leaving Martin alone under the oaks. Without Percy’s chatter, the silence felt heavy.

Martin ventured into the woods. The wide, twisted trunks closed behind him like giant doors. Edgar’s trail of hoof prints led him in a winding pattern until a swift river crossed his path. More prints dug up the mud in a wide berth by the bank. Then a fresh trail split from the mess and followed the current down to a stout bridge which arched over the river.

“You could have at least had the decency to swim across and spare us the hassle of washing you,” said Martin.

Halfway across the bridge, however, Edgar’s muddy trail disappeared. Martin leaned over the aging rail, but no pigs floated downstream. Martin rubbed his neck, trying to figure things out. One way or another, Edgar hadn’t made it to the other side. Perhaps the pig had doubled back and slipped past him.

“Evangeline never gives us this much trouble. If I find you grinning at me from your trough, I’ll...”

He caught a whiff of an awful smell from the other side of the river. The air was damp, warm, and decayed, like the time Percy left a chicken carcass on the counter overnight, only worse.

A shape darted through Martin’s peripheral vision. He spun around. He stood alone on the bridge, and nothing moved along either bank.

Martin decided he had tried hard enough. Edgar would wander back to the Cabbage Cart sooner or later, and whatever smelled like old meat across the river was best left alone.

Branches groaned in the trees. Something moved in the shadows beyond the far bank. Martin wondered what sort of wild animals inhabited these woods, and an unsavory thought struck him. Maybe Edgar hadn’t vanished on his own after all.

Then, without warning, a snarling figure streaked across the bridge. The planks rattled and groaned. Martin forgot about Edgar in as much time as it took him to turn and run. The animal collided with him before he made it off the bridge. It was big, putrid, and hairy.

Martin fell on his back and raised his arms. Jaws snapped near his face. A searing cold penetrated his hand and wrist. Martin shoved the creature off. His hand went numb, but he focused solely on running for his life. He didn’t slow down to see if he was being followed.

By the time he caught the first glimpse of the open fields, his legs barely held him up. The trees wavered before his watering eyes. He fell again. His chest drove into the dirt. The cold spread up his arm, his tongue thickened into a useless sanding block, and he lost consciousness.

* * *

When Martin next opened his eyes, he stared up at a row of hardwood beams. He was on his back in a corner of the apothecary in Bardun Village. Feverish chills wracked his shoulders. His left arm hurt. Everything else remained numb. He tried to sit up, but firm hands held him down. Voices broke through the barriers in his senses. They were talking about him.

While he waited for his throat to clear, he tested his muscles. All of his toes and five of his fingers responded, albeit reluctantly, but he couldn’t move his left fingers. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes. He lay on a table, beside which stood a three-legged stool with a steaming wash bin and a pile of rags. Clean bandages wrapped around his left arm from his wrist to his elbow. His fingertips were swollen and blotchy.

Martin turned to the right, where the murmuring group stood in a huddle. Hergelo Stump rubbed his hand along his balding head and adjusted his eye-patch every few rubs. Next to him, Mayor Clarenbald finished saying something solemn, to which Stump responded with a grumble. The town pharmacist wrung his hands together, and a hunter completed the circle with his back turned. Percy Durbity sat on a stool in the corner, looking absolutely miserable.

A fresh wave of pain flashed down Martin’s arm. He groaned, though it sounded more like a croak. All four heads in the room turned his way. Mayor Clarenbald whispered to the pharmacist, who shook his head and whispered back. Percy ran to the table. His mouth dropped open, his face went white, then red, and then he saw Martin’s fingers and it turned green. Stump pulled Percy away from the table right before the boy lost his supper.

The pharmacist bustled about with clean rags, vials of unidentifiable liquids, and a towel to slip under Martin’s head. He didn’t accomplish anything, but he made himself look busy. Martin wanted to know what had happened to him, but for the moment, that one croak was all the sound he could muster.

Just then, someone pounded on the apothecary door.

Mayor Clarenbald waved his hands. “No, no, no. Not her. Absolutely not. Keep her out!”

The door burst open. Footsteps dashed across the room. Mayor Clarenbald hopped out of the way with a yelp, the pharmacist went flying, and the next moment, Elodie stood at Martin’s side.

She let out a small cry when she saw his bandaged arm. “What happened to you?”

Martin did his best to answer, but his throat rasped uselessly.

Elodie whirled on the others. “What happened to him? Who did this?”

The pharmacist backed away while he tried to explain. Martin only heard portions of what he said. His own memory scrambled in his head. He remembered the bridge and the animal, but only in fragments, like shards from a broken mirror. He clenched his eyes shut, desperate to talk. The effort drained his energy, and he slipped away again.

The next thing he knew, rays of morning light poked through the apothecary windows. Clean bandages covered his hand and arm. Everyone but Elodie had left. She slumped on the stool next to him, leaning on the table with her head in the crook of her elbow. Her hair splayed over her arms and shoulders in disarray.

Martin tried to say her name. He didn’t croak anymore, but he still sounded like a dying buzzard.

Elodie woke and lifted her head with a bleary smile. “Shh, don’t bother,” she said. She touched his forehead, scowled, and tipped a shallow bowl of water to his lips.

Martin drank. The liquid burned through the cracks in his throat. He wondered if it was water at all, but in a few moments the pain faded to a dull throb. He worked his tongue loose, an exercise that required more effort than it should have. “Elodie.”

She put a finger to his lips. “I said don’t talk. I kicked the others out, so you’d better do as I say.” She lifted his head and refolded the towel under it. “Go back to sleep, Martin. I’ll be right here with you.”

2. Martin Half-Handed

Martin’s arm took a turn for the worse that night. The dark blotches on his hand, which the pharmacist had written off as bruises, did not fade. Instead, the stain spread until the veins in Martin’s wrist darkened as well. None of the pharmacist’s concoctions worked.

Elodie came to the apothecary to check on Martin every chance she got. At one point, when the pharmacist was out, Percy tried to smuggle in Evangeline to cheer Martin up. The pig took one look at the shelves of vials and tools, squealed in terror, and waddled out the door as fast as her stubby legs could carry her.

On the third night in the apothecary, Martin broke out in a cold sweat and began to see things that weren’t there. He caught himself babbling nonsense to Elodie, only to realize the room was empty. More than once, he was sure he saw animals moving in the rafters, but they disappeared whenever he sat up.

“It’s poison,” the pharmacist concluded at last. “Not an infection, not even a circulation problem. Whatever bit you in the woods had something nasty in its teeth. The hallucinations gave it away. Mandrake will do the same to a man twice your size, as will datura, if you give it a chance.”

Contrary to the pharmacist’s expectations, his antidotes did nothing but turn Martin’s stomach into a brittle sponge. Over the course of the next day, the pharmacist talked less and frowned more. He kept the door locked whenever he was in.

On the fourth night, the pharmacist sat on the stool in the corner, his face buried in a book. He tapped his fingers on the pages, muttering to himself. Then he shook his head and closed the book with a long sigh.

“That’s it, then. I have nothing else. No answers, no diagnosis, no solutions. The poison in your hand doesn’t match anything in my books, but it’s still spreading. I fear I may have already postponed this decision too long. We have to remove the hand before your whole arm gets infected.”

Martin lacked the will to argue. He closed his eyes to the inevitable and let the familiar darkness sweep him away.

* * *

The following months tested Martin’s resilience in a way he had never experienced before. He spent two more weeks in the apothecary to give his arm time to heal, and then the pharmacist deemed him fit to go home.

For Martin, home meant a tiny room on the second floor of the Cabbage Cart. He felt useless, since he depended on help from Elodie and Percy for everything during the first few days. Elodie helped him fashion a sleeve out of old leather to slip over the stump of his arm, cinched with cords he could tighten or loosen with his teeth. Martin only meant to wear it long enough for his arm not to flinch at the slightest touch, but he got used to it and decided to keep it.

Another week passed before Hergelo Stump let him resume work, and even then Martin had to prove he could scrub pots faster with one hand than Percy could with two.

Despite his gradual reintegration into a normal routine, one urge remained lodged in the back of his mind. It was the urge to settle scores with the animal in the woods. He knew it was foolhardy to think such thoughts, but each time Percy gawked at his stub, each time Elodie sighed and touched his forearm, the urge grew stronger.

During the last hours of work one day, Martin struggled furiously in the stable to use a pitchfork on his own, Percy poked his head in and watched with wide, curious eyes.

“I say, Martin,” he said cheerfully, “you’re stronger half-handed than I’ll ever be.”

Stump overheard Percy’s observation. From then on, whenever he needed Martin, and sometimes just for fun, he called out ‘Martin Half-Handed!’ The nickname became a bitter reminder that Martin was lesser than others. And he thought of the bridge, and of going back to find the animal.

A stinging nickname was only the start of the trials Martin faced. He had to learn how to perform simple motions all over again. Eating, bathing, tying knots, moving things, and other tasks proved trickier than he expected. Slowly but surely, he adapted.

While his arm fully healed, Elodie showed up at the Cabbage Cart early each morning to check on him. Once he convinced her that he was, in fact, able to function on his own, she found ways to brighten his long days in the kitchen.

Now and then she sent Percy to deliver an orange or, on special occasions, something warm from the bakery. Martin never figured out how she slipped the treats past Stump. Some days, and it was these Martin looked forward to the most, Elodie kept him company out back by the pigpen. Sometimes Martin wished she didn’t care so much, but whenever she couldn’t make it, he missed her sorely.

* * *

“Martin Half-Handed!” Hergelo Stump’s voice carried through walls and down the hallway straight into the Cabbage Cart’s kitchen, where Martin and Percy were scrubbing the floors.

Martin took his weight off the brush and shared a quizzical glance with Percy. For Stump’s bellowing to resound so much, he had to be in the common room. He only left his bucket throne when important people came to the Cabbage Cart, or when he was bored enough to come down and criticize his employee’s work.

“What do you suppose he wants?” said Percy.

Martin stood and stretched his aching back. Any excuse to get off the grimy floor was good enough for him. He tugged off his apron, wiped his hand as clean as he could, and hurried down the corridor.

Stump was waiting for him just inside the entrance with a pair of newcomers to the inn—a husband and wife, judging by the way they held hands. The pair was too wealthy to be from Bardun Village. They were dressed in fine clothes of bright colors and looked about the rustic inn as if examining a bad painting.

The woman spotted him. Her eyes roamed up and down his filthy frame, and when she spotted his left arm, her eyebrows popped up. She quickly leaned in and whispered something to her husband. He nodded gravely, stroked his mustache, and put on all the wealthy airs he had at his disposal.

Martin decided he didn’t like them.

“Here’s my boy,” said Stump. “Martin, the gentleman is my cousin once-removed, Gerald Cribbs, along with his resplendent wife Hilda. They’ll be taking a room for the night.”

Hilda Cribbs sniffed the air. “We’re just passing through.”

She and her husband Gerald floated past them without a second glance, picking their way through the empty tables and chairs to the inn room hall.

Stump watched them go with a wistful sigh. Then he jerked his thumb at the door. “Horses out front. See they’re taken care of.”

With a curt nod, Martin ran to do as he was told. He led the horses, both coal black and quite something to look at, around the inn to the stables. Once they were each in a stall, he did his best to prolong his time away from scrubbing floors. He brushed them both down mane to hoof, brought in fresh hay to spread about, and even dug out a handful of sugar cubes from the pantry.

The horses were munching on them when Martin heard someone approaching him from behind.

“Stable boy?” It was Hilda Cribbs.

She tiptoed through the hay-strewn mud with her dress pulled up to her shins. Martin picked straw out of his leather sleeve until she reached cleaner ground in front of the stable.

Hilda eyed his handiwork. Her pointy chin bobbed up and down. “You’ve done a fine job, especially for one in your state. Poor thing. My husband and I noticed your plight earlier, but of course we wouldn’t say anything in front of good cousin Hergelo. You must be ashamed enough to be handicapped without people pointing fingers, aren’t you?” She pulled a velvet pouch from her sleeve and pinched two coins between her fingers. “Here, for your trouble.”

The coins clinked into his palm, and before he had time to say anything, Hilda was on her delicate way. When she rounded the corner, Martin balled up his fist and threw the coins as far as he could. He stormed to the kitchen, where Percy had almost become one with the grease puddles. He ignored the boy’s bewildered stare and snatched a knife from the block on the counter.

“What’s that for?” Percy asked.

“I’m going to the bridge in the forest. I don’t care if it was a wolf that took my hand, or a bear, or whatever other story people made up. I’m going to hunt the miserable animal myself. Maybe then they’ll see I’m worth more than pity-pennies and sad glances.”

“You can’t leave! What if Stump comes looking for you? What’ll I tell him if he asks me where you’ve gone? I don’t want to get the foot again.”

“Hide in the cupboard.”

Percy scrambled to his feet and put himself between Martin and the door. “But—but Elodie’s coming today, remember? What am I to say to her? I don’t like keeping secrets.”

“Out of my way, Percy. I don’t care who comes or what you say, I’ve made up my mind.” He stopped at the door. “Will you think of a way to cover for me?”

The boy’s eyes swelled to the size of saucers. “I’m not good at lying, Martin.”

“You’ll manage.”

Percy snapped his fingers and brightened. “Oh, here’s something! I’ll tell her Evangeline escaped, and that you’ve gone—”

“For goodness’ sake, Percy, anything but that!” Martin flung the door shut behind him.

* * *

A wind picked up as Martin passed the farmhouse under the holly grove. He was halfway across the fields between the road and the forest when the hot air left his head in a rush. He slowed down. Of all the ways to react to the good intentions of an ignorant stranger, storming off to slay a beast he wouldn’t be likely to find wasn’t the best by any standard. He knew he had made a fool of himself in front of Percy.

All the same, he kept going. This was as close to the forest as he had come in almost a year, and he was curious. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Percy told him to turn around. The forest wasn’t safe. Martin ignored the voice. He wanted to see for himself.

Besides the lack of pigs to chase down, everything felt the same when he entered the woods. The bugs and rushing grass faded into heavy silence. Martin took a moment to listen and smell, but the air was clean and the trees were still. He remembered the layout of the woods and the path Edgar had taken. Soon he heard swift water, and he followed his ears until he struck the river not far from the bridge itself.

After a thorough examination of the opposite bank, Martin stepped onto the bridge. He let his hand glide along the rail and stopped halfway across, where the river was at its deepest under his feet. If he closed his eyes, he could probably imagine the attack had never happened here and that both his hands were attached to his arms, but he didn’t want to put himself through that. He stood there, staring at the water, letting the rhythmic flow ease his frustration. With a shake of his head he dropped the kitchen knife over the rail.

“Martin?”

He spun around, startled by the soft voice calling his name.

Elodie stood at the foot of the bridge, hugging a blue shawl around her shoulders.

“How did you find me?”

“Percy told me where you’d gone,” she said. “Please don’t be mad at him. He tried his best to keep it a secret, but it’s not like you to run off alone, so I pulled his ears until he confessed. Why did you come here?”

Martin didn’t want to explain everything he was feeling. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t entirely sure he could. “This is where it happened.”

Elodie joined him in the middle of the bridge. “I think I understand.” For a while she, stood quietly beside him. Then she said, “I brought you something.”

“I don’t think I can stomach an orange today.”

“Guess again.” She held out her hand and showed him a ring made of polished brass. Other than a simple etched pattern on its surface, there wasn’t much remarkable about it, but she held it like a jewel and searched his eyes. “This ring was my mother’s and my grandmother’s, and I’ve been keeping it safe for someone special.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the mayor’s? It’s got the town crest.”

She stamped her foot. “Fine, then, be that way. Yes, I found it when I was cleaning out one of his old desk drawers, and I took it because he has enough brass rings to fill a bean jar. But the fact is I thought of you and I want you to keep it. It’s not the prettiest, I know, but there are days when an orange simply isn’t enough. But first you have to promise you won’t make Percy lie to me and that you won’t run and hide from me ever again.”

Martin slid the ring over his index finger. “Deal.”

“Good,” said Elodie. She took his left arm in her hands. She tapped the leather sleeve. “I wish you wouldn’t wear this all the time.”

“Why? I need it. If I tried to help Percy carry firewood into the shed without it I’d end up with more splinters than skin.”

“That’s not really why you wear it, though.” She undid the straps and slid it off his arm, revealing the rounded stub where his hand used to be. “Just like people shouldn’t think any less of you, you shouldn’t think any less of yourself.”

Martin looked away. “I’m not used to it yet, that’s all.”

“You’re going to have to accept it sooner or later. Wrapping it up all the time won’t help that.”

“I know.”

He put the sleeve on and pretended he didn’t see her frown. A rustle in the oak limbs above the bridge caught his ear. A thick branch snapped and fell.

Martin jumped out of the way. He lost his balance and crashed into the rail. The old wood snapped under his weight. Trees and sky and river spun into one dizzying wheel before he plunged into the water with the broken rail on top of him. By the time he freed himself and floundered to the surface, Elodie was already reaching down for him.

“Grab on!”

Martin swung his arm, but the current swept him out of reach. Though he fought against the swift water, the river carried him away like driftwood. Elodie called out to him, but the water crashing into his face drowned her voice out. Then she jumped in, and he lost sight of her.

Between the current and his clothes and shoes weighing him down, Martin tired before he could find something to grab onto. He couldn’t find Elodie—he couldn’t even stop spinning long enough to swim to the bank. Water found its way into his eyes and nose and mouth. He sputtered and went under. The current knocked him head-over-heels. Martin broke the surface. He thought he caught a glimpse of Elodie, but the river pulled him right back under, and this time he couldn’t fight it anymore. One last fleeting thought crossed his mind before he succumbed to the water—Percy was right. He should have never gone into the forest.

3. The Servant of Nayadu

Martin came to his senses as he washed up to the riverbank in a calm pool full of cattails and algae. Wondering how he was still alive, he found the roots of an oak dipping into the water and pulled himself to dry ground. He spat out a mouthful of water and fell with his back against the trunk.

“I wish you hadn’t jumped, Elodie,” he said. “I had it all under control.”

He cracked his eyes open. Elodie wasn’t there. He shot to his feet, but a wave of dizziness knocked him back down, so he crawled to the edge of the water.

“Elodie!”

He saw no trace of her in the green pool or in the swifter current farther out. He searched upstream and downstream, but she wasn’t there. The bridge was gone as well. The river must have carried him deeper into the woods. On his knees in the mud, Martin steadied his breathing. Elodie had always been the better swimmer of the two of them. If he had made it out of the river in one piece, so had she. It was hard to tell just how far from the bridge the river had pulled him, but Elodie was bound to be looking for him by now.

Martin stood and wrung water from his shirt. He resigned himself to a long and drippy walk back upriver. He picked a few strands of algae from his hair, and it was then he realized his leather sleeve was missing. He searched the oak roots and the shallow water at his feet, but it wasn’t there, and he didn’t want to spend time looking for it. He set off with a squish in his step.

The trees, as grand as they were, spread wide enough for him to follow the river without ever losing sight of it, and he kept his eyes peeled for Elodie’s courier uniform. Every now and then he called her name, but he heard no reply.

As he passed under the boughs of a particularly ambitious oak, a thick vine dropped by his face. Martin pushed it aside, and it felt wrong under his hands. It wasn’t a vine at all, but a green serpent dangling from the branches. It curled up, hissing, and flicked a vibrant red tongue in and out of its mouth.

Martin backed away. He had encountered his share of snakes before. He and Percy had even had to beat one out of Edgar and Evangeline’s pen a few years back. But this snake was not like any of the muddy garters slithering around the Cabbage Cart. Its scales were sharp and lime-green, its head wide and flat like a spade, and its sinuous body nearly as long as Martin was tall.

The serpent lazily opened its mouth to flash a pair of white fangs, and Martin understood the message clearly. He intended to comply with the snake’s need for personal space, but he tripped over his heel on his way out from under the oak and landed on his rump. Startled, the snake stiffened and hissed. The scales down its back ruffled up not unlike the fur of an angry cat.

A small, brown object zipped through the air and smacked the serpent between the eyes. There was a sharp crack, followed by a puff of brown dust. Blinded, the snake recoiled. A second projectile flew in the wake of the first, then a third and a fourth. All of them found their mark, and amid a growing cloud of dust, Martin watched the snake slither back into the oak.

The cloud dissipated. Martin remained on his backside. Truly, this forest was the strangest place he had ever set foot in.

“Elodie?” He spoke only when he was sure the serpent was gone. “I don’t suppose that was you...”

Branches rattled in the neighboring tree. Martin found his feet and put a prudent distance between himself and the oaks. He looked around for a stick or a rock, anything with which to defend himself.

Then he spotted the source of the rattling. A creature no larger than a rabbit sat in the crook of a branch over Martin’s head. It was covered in scraggly, brown fur from its squat head to its stubby legs. A shining pair of blue eyes blinked at him over a mischievous grin. Its ears flopped over its head like rags. The creature stared back at Martin with its head tilted to the side and its little feet swaying back and forth.

Martin had never seen any animal like this one before, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. The creature held more of the brown, exploding projectiles in its hands.

“Did you throw those?”

He spoke to the creature the same way he might have to a friendly dog, but to his utter surprise, the furry little thing nodded, and its floppy ears wiggled.

“You—you understood that? What are you? And what are those?” He pointed to the miniature dust bombs in the creature’s hand.

The creature picked one of the projectiles from his fistful and for a moment looked like he might throw it at Martin.

“Puffernuts,” it said in a mousy voice. It didn’t answer the first part of Martin’s question.

“I see,” said Martin.

“Strange man only has one hand,” the creature said, “and strange man would surely end up with none if he pokes his finger at a sage viper.”

“Will it come back?”

The creature waggled its head.

Martin eyed the snake’s oak warily, and when he turned back, the creature was gone. “Hey! Don’t go! I need help.”

The creature popped from the grass at his feet like a stage rabbit from a magician’s hat. “Bramble didn’t go anywhere.”

“Bramble? Is that your name?”

“Bramble is Bramble’s name.”

“Do you always talk like this?”

Bramble, who only stood as high as Martin’s shins, cocked his head and blinked again. “If strange man needs help, Bramble would be happy to be strange man’s friend.”

“My name’s Martin, and I’m not strange at all.” He slipped his handless stub behind his back. “But yes, I need help. I’m looking for a friend of mine. A girl.”

Bramble bounced on his little feet. “Bramble also has looked for a girl. Under rocks, up in trees, and in the bushes, but Bramble hasn’t ever found one.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Never mind, then. If you can’t help me find her, could you at least show me the way back to the village? I’m lost.”

“Village?”

Martin frowned. “Yes, Bardun Village. Past the fields at the forest’s edge. That’s where I live.”

Bramble checked around his legs and under his arms. “Bramble hasn’t heard of that place before.”

Martin sat on the riverbank. He picked up a twig and chucked it into the river, at a loss for what to do next. While he sat there in a heap of gloom, Bramble scampered up his tree, stuck his furry torso in a dark hollow, and came back down. He plopped down beside Martin, fiddling with an object in his hands and muttering to himself.

Martin wished to be left alone until he saw what Bramble was toying with. It was his leather sleeve. He snatched it away. “Where did you get this?”

The blue eyes went wide. “Bramble found it.”

“It’s mine,” said Martin.

“Oh.” Bramble picked at his toes.

Martin strapped the sleeve to his arm. “Where did you find it?”

“Maybe Bramble found it under the sticky-bridge.”

“What do you mean, maybe? You either did or you didn’t.”

Bramble’s ears drooped some more. “Oh dear.”

“You lied to me, didn’t you? You were there, and you do know about the girl I’m looking for.”

“A girl with a blue neck-sail? Bramble doesn’t remember...” Bramble stopped and pulled down on his ears with clenched fists. “Bramble mustn’t lie. Remember, mustn’t lie! Yes, Bramble saw a sun-drop girl by the tumble-water, too. Girl had a blue neck-sail—”

“It’s called a shawl.”

“—and Bramble maybe...Bramble knows which way she went.”

Martin jumped to his feet. “Will you take me to her?”

Bramble curled up his short legs and hugged his knees, rocking back and forth like a child throwing a fit. “One for the trees, mustn’t shake the leaves. Mustn’t tell a lie, and mustn’t make a peep.”

“What on earth are you going on about?” said Martin.

Bramble tugged on Martin’s pant leg. “Martin must follow Bramble. Bramble can take Martin to the sun-drop girl.” He set off away from the river, pumping his little legs.

Martin had to hurry to keep up. “Her name is Elodie.”

“That is a strange name.”

“And you’re sure you can find her?”

“Must be speedy-quick. Must follow Bramble.”

* * *

There was a stark difference between the forest close to the clover fields, where the river ran, and the forest deeper in, where the sunlight splashed in wavering pools between the trees. Between the fields and the bridge, the woodland was slow and quiet, but beyond the river, where Bramble now scurried along before Martin, the trees stirred with life.

Though no more sage vipers dropped from the branches, Martin sensed signs of the forest’s curious inhabitants all around him. A rustle in the leaves as he passed through, the patter of little feet among the oaken latticework overhead, or the breathy rush of small wings flitting by. From the streets of Bardun Village, the forest looked and felt like a dark wall not to be crossed, but now Martin ran through an undiscovered world where everything moved, breathed, and thrived.

At first Martin spent some time trying to figure out what exactly Bramble was, but he soon abandoned that task. He thought it would be rude to ask, and it wasn’t hard to assume there would be many more secrets and surprises hidden in the forest, so he focused on trying not to lose sight of Bramble.

The little creature’s legs pumped at a mad pace, and he scampered over rocks and logs without missing a beat. Martin, on the other hand, was panting and sweating a good twenty steps behind, and he feared Bramble had forgotten he existed. He called ahead to Bramble and leaned against a tree to catch his breath.

Bramble came back with a hop and a grin. “Mustn’t stop,” he said cheerfully.

“I thought you were taking me to Elodie.”

“The sun-drop girl? Bramble has been leading the way just as Bramble said.”

“I hope you are,” said Martin. “But I can’t think of any reason why she’d have come all this way. Did something happen to her? Did she have to run from one of those sage vipers too?”

Bramble shrugged and looked away.

“Either way,” Martin went on, “I can’t keep up with you, so you’re going to have to slow down.”

“Mustn’t slow down.”

“Why not?”

“Mustn’t slow down because the forest is not a safe place for strange men with only one hand. If Martin has never been in the forest before, Bramble must warn Martin about the three mustn’t-dangers.”

“I don’t have time for lectures. I’ve got to find Elodie.”

“Must listen closely,” said Bramble. He lifted up three fingers and counted them down as he spoke. “Mustn’t poke a turtle blossom. Mustn’t eat a puffernut. Mustn’t make Nayadu angry.”

“Nayadu? Is that a person’s name?”

Bramble’s eyes darted from side to side. “Nayadu is the shifty-shaker.” Then he added quickly in a whisper, “Mustn’t tell a lie.” And he pulled on his ears so hard that Martin thought he might yank them from his head.

Martin shook his head, bewildered. He spun a full circle, looking for any movement, any clue. “I’ve got to find her,” he muttered to himself.

“Martin is done his rest?”

Martin scowled. “Yes, it’s been very pleasant, thank you.”

“Bramble knows Martin must be worried about his sun-drop girl.”

“I am.”

The furry little creature patted his knee. “Follow Bramble.”

And with that they were off again. A thought occurred to Martin. Once he found Elodie, they would have to find their way out of the forest, and he had been too concentrated on following Bramble to mind his directions. Though he rarely left town, Martin knew how to find his bearings with the sun, but that was a difficult task when the sun poured through the leaves from all directions at once without actually showing itself.

He shrugged aside the concern. One problem at a time. Perhaps Bramble would agree to lead them back to the river.

As they made progress, Bramble added a host of warnings to his three original rules of the woods.

“Mustn’t stick one’s nose in a puddle plant, mustn’t steal a sting finch egg, mustn’t taste any grimy dew nectar, mustn’t step on a prickle toad, mustn’t touch the shimmery shine leaf, mustn’t sleep in creepy caves, mustn’t...”

Martin eventually stopped paying attention. At one point, the stump of his left arm began to itch, as it had occasionally in the past few months. He wondered if the animal that had attacked him on the bridge was among the names Bramble rattled off. The itch soon went away.

Not long after Bramble ran out of warnings, they stopped at the foot of an old and twisted oak with branches winding skyward and leaves as wide as Martin’s splayed hand. Bramble hopped up the knobby roots, muttering to himself, and came to a stop at the base of the trunk.

“Why have we stopped here?” Martin asked.

“Bramble must fetch more puffernuts. Bramble always hides puffernuts in trees all around in case Bramble ever runs into boggy-piggies.” He shivered. “Bramble is afraid of boggy-piggies.”

Bramble scurried up the trunk and disappeared into a hollow. A moment later, however, there came a muffled ‘oh dear,’ and Bramble popped back out. He rolled down the trunk and landed upside down at Martin’s feet.

“Bramble’s hidey-hollow has been found out.” He shook a fist at the red squirrel that poked its head from the hollow. “Mustn’t eat a puffernut!”

“Can’t we keep going without them?” Martin asked.

Bramble gave a long, disappointed sigh. “Very well. Bramble can find another tree with puffernuts hidden in hidey-hollows.”

“Only if it’s on the way to Elodie. I want to get out of this forest safely and quickly.”

After leaving Bramble’s desecrated puffernut stash well behind, Martin and Bramble came to a stretch of forest where the ground had been trampled and dug up by some animal.

“Boggy-piggies,” muttered Bramble. “Mustn’t go where the boggy-piggies oink, but Bramble does what Bramble mustn’t do.”

“This reminds me,” said Martin softly, unsure what to expect, “when Elodie and I were on the bridge, just before I fell in, a branch dropped from a tree above us and nearly knocked my head off. Any idea what makes that sort of thing happen?”

Bramble swung his arms back and forth. “Maybe a windstorm broke the branch?”

“We haven’t had any windstorms.”

“Mustn’t be afraid,” said Bramble to himself. “Mustn’t tell a lie, mustn’t be afraid, mustn’t...” He trailed off.

Martin pointed across the way. “See, just over there? The branches aren’t broken and the bushes aren’t flattened anymore. I don’t know what sort of pig you’re so scared of, but we can cross quickly.”

This seemed to cheer Bramble up a little bit, for his ears drooped less and he gave a few tentative hops. They hurried through, making as little noise as possible. Martin stayed alert in case anything came their way, but nothing did.

They were halfway across the trampled stretch of woodland when the earth crumbled under them and they fell into a hole in the ground. Bramble landed on Martin’s chest, and a mass of leaves, dirt, grass, and sticks landed on Bramble. Martin clawed his way out of the pile, spitting a clod of dirt out of his mouth.

“Why?” he yelled. “Why is there some random pit in the middle of the woods?”

Bramble shook dirt from his ears. “Oh dear.”

Martin stood on his toes, but the edge of the pit was just out of reach. There was no way to climb out with only one hand to grasp at the crumbling dirt.

“Bramble, someone must have dug this hole, someone who was clever enough to cover it up like that. Do you know who? And more importantly, how are we to get out?”

Bramble stood very still, his ears pointing in two different directions. “Oh dear,” he said again, “Bramble smells...”

“What do you smell?” His stump itched, and then it stung. He ignored it.

“Bramble smells the servant of Nayadu.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Bramble jumped onto Martin’s head, and from there to the edge of the pit. “Bramble is sorry, but Bramble cannot stay.”

“Hey! You promised to take me to Elodie. You can’t leave me here!”

“Mustn’t make a peep,” said Bramble. “Mustn’t answer any questions.”

“I can’t climb up by myself. Find a branch to pull me out.”

“Servant of Nayadu would hurt Bramble. Bramble is sorry!” And with that, the furry creature disappeared.

Martin yelled after him, but Bramble was gone. Then Martin heard footsteps coming towards the pit.

A dark figure leaned over the edge. Armed with a wicked-looking bow and garbed in forest colors, the stranger watched Martin without a word. A gray hood caked in mud and fern leaves hid his face.

The stranger knelt and stretched out his hand. He smelled like a swamp, but anything was better than being stuck in the pit for the rest of his life, so Martin let the stranger haul him free.

With the light back in his favor, Martin got a better look at him. The stranger stood a few inches shorter than Martin. He pointed his weapon straight at Martin’s chest.

Martin raised his arms and stepped back. “Now, look here. I don’t care how dark or evil you are, I haven’t done you any harm, so you have no reason to point that thing at me.”

The stranger lowered the arrow and whipped the hood away. Martin’s brow shot up. He certainly hadn’t been expecting the person standing before him. It was a girl, a girl with fiery green eyes and a feisty scowl.

She threw down her bow and planted her fists on her hips. “Why, you clod-brained, gimpy hog-moggins, I’m not evil!”

4. From Floodweed to Fanged Fledglings

The girl folded her arms. She peered into the pit, then back at Martin. “Don’t you know how long it takes to dig these traps?”

Martin gaped at her, completely speechless.

“I even made this stupid cloak, just for today’s hunt, and you’ve ruined it.” She ripped the leaf-and-mud cloak from her shoulders and tossed it aside. Once her hands were free, she picked up her bow. Then she looked him over feet to face.

“You’re obviously not a bog boar, but with the face you’re making you could easily pass for a trout.”

Martin snapped his mouth shut. He brushed dirt and grass from his pants without taking his eyes off her.

“That’s better. But you’re missing...never mind. You’re a person, and there’s little to be done about it. Do you have a name?”

“I’m not telling you my name,” said Martin.

The girl pouted. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t like you. I’m tired of being treated like a lost child, like I don’t know anything.”

“Are you lost?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course I am.”

“Do you know anything?”

He hesitated.

“Well, if you’re lost and you don’t know anything, how else am I to treat you?” She frowned at her ruined pit again and clicked her tongue. “All those hours...all the blisters...”

Martin took a step away from the pit just in case she got any ideas. “Are you going to let me go?”

“Of course not. You may be a normal fellow, but you still ruined my best boar trap and wasted two whole days of work, and I’m not letting you out of my sight until you make up for it.”

She got on her stomach to pull a section of reed mesh from the hole. She shook it in his face. “Putting this thing together took me four hours by itself. It was a work of art, a hunter’s masterpiece. And you and that wad of bothersome fur stomped right over it as if it were your doormat.”

“It’s not like we saw it coming,” Martin retorted.

“Of course you didn’t! That’s the whole point of a trap. But it’s not for lost boys, it’s for bog boars. Now we’ll have to eat potatoes and rabbit all week. But why should you care, right?”

Again, Martin stared at her in bewilderment.

The girl shook her head. “If I’d known you were going to take the trout comment so seriously, I would’ve chosen a more useful animal.”

“I don’t have time for this,” said Martin. “Look, I’m sorry about your pig trap, but I’ve lost a friend of mine. She might be in trouble and I’ve got to find her. I’m not from the forest. I live in Bardun Village. You know it?” He waved his arm. “Out there, out of the woods, where things make sense.”

It was the girl’s turn to look confused. “Don’t lie to me. There’s nothing outside the woods. I’ve never heard of any villages. You made that up.”

“Have you never...” Martin squinted at her—the soiled pants and shirt, the straw-colored hair hanging to her waist, the handmade bow. “Have you never left the forest?”

She shrugged. “Should I have?”

“It’s wild in here.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. But I still think you’re lying. If there were any villages outside the forest, they would have...” she didn’t finish the sentence. “Either way, you broke my trap. You owe me. It’s time to go.”

“Go?” Martin shook his head. “I can’t go. Weren’t you listening? I have to find my missing friend.”

The girl raised her arrow again. “I think you’re wrong. I think you’re coming with us.”

“Wait. Us?”

She stuck two fingers between her lips and whistled. The shrill tone pierced the forest.

“What are you doing now?”

She arched an eyebrow.

A savage yowl answered the girl’s whistle. A magnificent creature broke through the forest canopy and landed beside her. It was a woodland cat, a lynx, with rich fur and wings of golden feathers spreading from its sides. When it saw Martin, the lynx hissed and flattened its ears.

“Illo, this isn’t a bog boar,” said the lynx.

“I know that already,” said the girl. “But he ruined our trap, so we’re taking him with us all the same.”

Martin couldn’t take his eyes off the winged cat.

The lynx circled Martin’s legs. “Why is he missing a hand?”

“I don’t know,” said Illo. “He hasn’t even told me his name. Now isn’t the time to ask personal questions, though. We’ve got ground to cover.”

“How do you expect me to pay you back for that trap, anyhow?” Martin asked. “I can’t make a new one, for obvious reasons, and I have no money. You may as well let me go.”

“Money? What on earth would I do with that junk? Don’t worry, mister trout. I’m sure I’ll think of something by the time we get back.”

“But my—”

“Your friend? The one you’re making up just to get out of trouble? Don’t bother. Now, on to important matters. I can move quickly through the trees, but I’m guessing you can’t, so Aguilax will take you.”

The lynx offered him a snarl.

“And if you try to fight or run, I’ll put a hole in your back pocket.” Illo jostled her bow to make her meaning clear.

Martin looked apprehensively at the winged cat. “I’m too big to ride him.”

Illo grinned a wicked grin. “I never said you’d be riding.”

Aguilax leaped into the air, circled once, and picked Martin up by the shoulders. His claws dug through Martin’s shirt, but before Martin could yank free they were flying up towards the treetops.

“My advice,” said Aguilax, “is to not squirm. I’m strong, but I can’t guarantee I won’t drop you if you put up such a fuss.”

Martin didn’t have the breath to respond. His stomach threatened to slide right out of his mouth as the forest floor swirled and dwindled beneath his dangling feet. Illo shimmied up a tree below them.

Aguilax spiraled upwards in wide circles until they broke free of the trees and met clear skies. Martin’s eyes widened at what he saw. The forest rolled on for miles and miles in all directions. He craned his neck, but couldn’t find the end of the forest or the village.

“Aren’t you going to leave her behind?” He shouted over the rush of air.

“Illo? Not a chance. She’s as fast in the trees as a monkey with its bum on fire. Besides, we’re not going far.”

Martin was relieved to hear that. Neither he nor Aguilax spoke anymore. As his stomach gradually settled back into place, Martin stared down at the leafy ocean. Today was not his day.

* * *

Hanging from Aguilax’s paws like so much drying laundry wasn’t a comfortable means of transportation by any stretch of the imagination, but the flight turned out to be a short one. Soon after they leveled out above the tops of the trees, Aguilax began his descent. The lynx looped in lazy circles, much like he had done to gain altitude when they set out.

Aguilax navigated the forest roof deftly, taking them once more into the shining green underworld. The loops left Martin dizzy, and when Aguilax set him on his feet, he nearly tipped over.

Aguilax padded down beside him. “It’s always tricky business, flying for the first time.”

Martin nodded, but he was too surprised by what lay before them to answer. He and Aguilax stood on a patch of flagstone by a pleasant brook that snaked through the grass. Flattened stones provided a place to cross, and on the other side the grass was neatly trimmed.

A cottage nestled against an old oak, but it was unlike any house Martin had seen before. Wood beams framed walls of hardened clay. There was a rounded door in the middle of one wall, and windows along the others. The roof was thatched straw and grass, broken only by a clay chimney.

The cottage wasn’t square or rectangular, or any shape houses were supposed to be. Instead, the walls grew with the oak, adapting to the twisting curve of the trunk and half buried in its roots on the right and a mound covered in lush grass and wildflowers on the left. Martin thought it looked like the forest had tried to swallow the cottage but got stuck halfway through the process.

The grassy clearing between the brook and the front door showed signs of frequent use as well: an animal’s rich pelt stretched over a frame by the water, and an old stump served as a log-splitting block beside it, with an ax buried firmly in it. There was a hewn table in a puddle of sunlight under one of the windows, and on it sat an array of potted flowers and a watering pail. Oil lanterns hung from the lowest oak branches all around the house and lawn. Martin even spotted plank platforms behind the thick foliage in the high boughs.

“Who lives here?” he asked.

“Illo does.”

“She did all this by herself?”

“Hardly. She’s not the only resident. Illo has an older sister, Fella. Her mind is as sharp as Illo’s arrows, which is fortunate for you. If anyone can sort out things between you and Illo and spare us another evening of bickering, Fella can.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Martin.

The lynx splashed his paws in the brook. “I must say, you’ve got a curious scent about you. You’re certainly not from the forest. I can’t quite shake my whiskers at what it is, but it’s...well, it’s nasty, if I’m honest.”

“My guess would be onions and old soap,” said Martin glumly. “And you’re right. I’m not from the forest. I’m from Bardun Village. I work at the Cabbage Cart, that’s why I smell this way. I tried to explain things to Illo before you came, but she didn’t listen.”

“Bardun Village?” Aguilax repeated. His ears twitched. “I’ve heard of no such place. Then again, I haven’t ever flown farther than Willow Pond, so I’ll take your word for it.”

Just then, Illo arrived. She came along the trees, bounding gracefully from branch to branch, never once misplacing a step or mistiming a jump. She swung down from the final branch and landed lightly on her feet next to them. She wasn’t even out of breath.

“Good, we’re all here,” she said, as if counting luncheon guests.

“I’m not stepping through that doorway for you to lock me up,” said Martin.

She waved him off. “Stop talking, trout-man. I’m not locking you up, I’m welcoming you into my home. Consider yourself a guest.”

“Do you always threaten to stick arrows in your guests if they refuse an invitation?”

She grinned. “Most of the time, yes.”

Illo and Aguilax led Martin across the brook and up the path to the cottage’s front door. She opened it without knocking and stepped aside to usher Martin in first. Contrary to the outside, the house’s interior was perfectly ordinary. The door opened to a sunlit room equipped for sitting and eating, and a kitchen, a pantry, and a few small bedrooms clustered farther in. There were shelves full of knick-knacks, tables and chairs of varied sizes and carved patterns, stacks of patchwork quilts, cupboards with dishes, and everything else one would expect to see in a cozy country home.

Aguilax stretched and perched on the back of one of the chairs with his wings neatly folded over his back. He looked like a furry, breathing gargoyle.

A voice called out from one of the bedrooms. “Illo, is that you? I hope you haven’t brought a whole boar carcass back. The house already smells like a swamp with all the mud you dug up for that costume of yours.”

Another girl stepped into the main room. She had the same slim build as Illo, but her hair was straight and dark, almost black, and her eyes were brown instead of green. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, eying the party gathered in the room.

“I didn’t bring a bog boar, Fella. My trap was perfect, but I’m stuck with him instead.” Illo pointed at Martin with the tip of her bow. “He ruined my pit, he wasted my days of tracking and preparation, and to top it all off, he thinks he’s a trout.”

Fella looked Martin up and down. “Is that so?”

“I brought him here until I can think of a way for him to pay me back,” said Illo, “but he keeps making up stories and excuses.”

Martin could only imagine what a sorry sight he must have been in his disheveled state. There was a time when he would have said it was impossible for him to be any dirtier than he was in the Cabbage Cart’s kitchens, scrubbing grease puddles, but this evening put that claim to the test.

“Do you want to eat something?”

Fella’s question caught him off guard. He hadn’t eaten anything since a hurried meal at noon in the kitchen with Percy, but until now, he hadn’t taken the time to consider how empty his stomach felt.

“It’s about time for dinner anyways, so I’ll take your indecision as a yes,” said Fella. “Illo, do you mind?”

Illo stuck out her chin. “You know I don’t like to cook. I’m the one who kills the food, remember?”

“Would you rather Aguilax try his luck with a mixing spoon?”

Illo left the room with a sigh, but not before giving Martin a final warning look. What she was warning him about, he didn’t know, but he would make sure not to do it. Aguilax found a comfortable position on the floor, which left Martin fidgeting at one end of the table and Fella still studying him from the other.

“Have a seat,” she said.

Martin stayed put. “I’m not sure I should.”

“Suit yourself.” Fella pulled over a chair for herself. “My sister gets a lot of crazy ideas in her head, but I can usually pick out the bits of truth.” She leaned forward with her arms on the table. “I know you don’t actually think you’re a trout.”

Martin grinned, albeit reluctantly, and sat.

Pots and pans clanged in the kitchen.

Fella rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind Illo. She’ll do that off and on until she remembers we don’t have magic ingredients that cook themselves.” She paused, as if given him a chance to say something. “Illo has hunted this part of the woods for years, from boars to bears, but this is the first time she’s brought back a person. She’s flustered. I don’t know how she expects you to pay her back for the pit, and you have a look in your eye that tells me she took you away from something important. Am I right?”

Martin nodded.

“I’ll hear more of Illo’s side of things later. But I’m curious. How did you wind up this deep in the forest?”

“I’m not from the woods,” said Martin.

“So I gathered.” She spread her hands open.

Martin told her everything that had happened to him since falling off the bridge. During his explanation, Fella showed no particular reaction, and not once did she interrupt him for questions or clarifications. To his surprise, she seemed to be accepting his story word for word.

When he was done, she leaned back in her chair. “You’ve had quite the day.”

“So you believe me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Illo didn’t even give me a chance.”

“I’m not Illo.”

Martin stared glumly at the knots in the table. “I just want to find Elodie and go back home.”

“Of course you do.”

“Do you have any idea where she might be?” He couldn’t mask the desperation in his voice.

“I don’t,” said Fella. “But there are ways to find out. We’ll talk when we’ve all had a bite to eat.”

Illo came back with a stack of wooden plates in her arms. She slapped them onto the table and left again without saying a word.

Fella ignored her. “May I ask what happened to your hand?”

“Something attacked me about a year ago,” said Martin. “A wolf, or a bear, I don’t know. I don’t remember much about what happened.” It wasn’t a topic he felt like discussing. “Thank you, by the way. For listening.”

“Like I said, we’ll see what we can do to help after we’ve had a proper meal. Well, let’s hope it’s proper. With Illo at the helm, anything could happen.”

“I heard that,” said Illo, sweeping through to plop a plate of ripe fruit in the middle of the table. In a few more trips she had the table covered in bowls of soup, cups, wooden utensils, half a loaf of sliced nut bread, and a platter of soft butter. With a decent amount of grumbling, Illo served the food.

“Not to put you on edge, but I dripped poison in your bowl,” she said to Martin. “And I still think you’re a hog-moggins.”

Illo and Aguilax bickered and bragged during the meal, swapping exaggerated hunting stories, each trying to out-narrate the other. The escapades were entertaining, but Martin wished they would talk less and eat more so he could get on his way. Nevertheless, the food didn’t last long, and when they finished eating, Fella stacked the tableware off to the side.

“We’ll wash up later,” she said. “We should settle matters between you two before sundown, or Martin may be stuck with us another day.”

Illo folded her arms across the table. “What’ve you decided, Fella? Is he going to make me a new mesh cover? It’ll take him ages with just one hand, but I don’t mind watching him do it.”

Fella looked at her sternly. “You’re going to help Martin find his friend, Elodie.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Illo laughed. “He owes me, not the other way around. That’s why I brought him here.”

“If you had listened to him in the first place, it might have dawned on you that he was telling the truth. Getting lost in the woods is serious, Illo. I’d like to think you would have offered help.”

Illo picked at a crumb on the table. “I might have.”

Fella’s shoulders fell. “You of all people know how dangerous the forest can be, but you’re also more than capable of lending a hand. So...”

“I’m not a child, Fella.” She ground the crumb between her thumb and forefinger. “Fine, I’ll help him find Ebony.”

“It’s Elodie,” said Martin.

“Yeah, we’ll find her, too. But what about my boar trap?” Then, catching the look on Fella’s face, she raised her hands. “Okay, okay. Never mind the trap for now. What’s the fastest way to find her?”

Fella tapped her chin. “Podgin has his maps. See if he’ll help you out.”

“We’re still doing this the hard way,” Martin insisted. “Show me the way home and I’ll round up a search party. They’ll comb through the woods and have her out in no time.”

“No,” said Illo. “We’re not doing that.”

“But—”

“I said no, Martin. I may be cornered into helping you, but we’ll do things my way. First of all, the boar grounds are the farthest west I ever go. I’m a good hunter, but even I wouldn’t be able to retrace all the circles Bramble led you in. You’re in my world now, and it looks like you’re stuck here. Secondly,” she lifted two fingers, “I won’t allow a bunch of ignorant city savages running rampant through my home.”

Martin looked to Fella for help, but she gave a slight shake of her head.

Aguilax stirred to life. “I might as well come along. We didn’t see much action this morning, and my muscles are starting to jitter.”

Illo dumped her camouflage cloak outside the door. “I’ll get rid of it later.”

Fella pinched her nose. “I appreciate that. When you find Elodie, bring her here.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Martin asked.

“Illo can handle this. Besides, I’m not the one who kidnapped you.”

Illo cleared her throat. “I thought we were in a hurry.” She kicked the door open.

Aguilax followed her outside, as did Martin.

He stopped in the doorway and turned to Fella. “Thanks again.”

She winked. “Don’t mention it. While you’re out there, watch out for—”

“Pretty much everything?”

“See? You’re getting the hang of this already.”

Illo and Aguilax were waiting for him by the brook.

“I suppose I’d better know what she looks like,” said Illo. “Not that a lot of people get lost in the woods, but you know.”

Martin adjusted the straps of his leather sleeve. “She’s about my age and height. Hair like yours, but not as long. She’s wearing a blue courier uniform.”

“What’s a courier?”

“She runs errands for Mayor Clarenbald.”

Illo snickered. “That’s a funny name.”

“I guess. We have worse. But anyways. Blue courier uniform, and she had a matching shawl, assuming she didn’t lose it in the river.”

“Speaking of which,” said Illo, “how did you manage to spill off the bridge, anyhow? Don’t get me wrong, I realize you’re not the most agile person to walk the earth, but still. I’m curious.”

Martin bit back a retort. “A branch fell from the tree over us. I jumped out of the way, and the rail broke under me.”

“Right. Because branches always drop out of place willy-nilly.”

“Forget it. I know what happened, and I don’t need to convince you. What’s your plan?”

“We told you. We’re going to Podgin’s.”

“Podgin?” Martin repeated.

“Call him a neighbor,” said Illo.

Martin rubbed his forehead. “I’ll just follow you. I can’t keep track of so many new names in one day.”

“At least we don’t have any Clarenbalds,” she said. “I don’t think I’d ever be able to take one of those seriously.” She muffled another laugh. “Come on, let’s go.”

Bow in hand, Illo set forth across the brook with Martin close behind her and Aguilax frolicking alongside. They doubled back around the cottage and headed east.

* * *

It was the strangest procession Martin had ever been part of. Parading single-file through Bardun Village with Hergelo Stump, Percy Durbity, and Evangeline Pig would have drawn less attention than Martin’s present company.

“We’d get there much sooner if we traveled my way,” Illo told Martin with a wistful glance at the trees, “but Fella wouldn’t ever forgive me if you fell and nicked your noggin.”

Aguilax had no qualms about staying on the ground. He trotted alongside them with his wings folded neatly and his head held high, rubbing his back against Illo’s legs one moment and swatting at a beetle the next.

Given the nature of the forest and the trouble he had already gone through, Martin expected their jaunt to be a long one. He was surprised when Illo signaled them to stop at the bottom of an earth bank with round boulders and more root tangles spilling over the top.

“Here we are,” she announced.

Martin thought she was joking. Then he looked closer. The bank wasn’t bare. There was a thick door wedged among the roots, the only evidence of a buried dwelling. There were no markings on it, no name, not even a doorknob or a knocker.

Illo pounded twice on the door with her fist.

“Are there a lot of people like you?” Martin asked while they waited. “I mean, living here in the forest.”

“If by people you mean humans like me and Fella,” said Illo, “then no, not a lot. But people in a broader sense? You only have to know where to look.”

Nobody answered at the door.

Martin shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Looks like no one’s home.”

Shaking her head, Illo tapped her nose. Martin drew in a breath. Under the damp, earthy smell of the forest he caught a whiff of soot and mushrooms.

“He’s here,” said Illo. She banged on the door again. “Podgin, let us in! It’s me, you milkcap!”

Another wait.

“I should have gone on my own,” said Martin.

“You could have, and in five minutes you’d be right back where I found you. Totally helpless.”

“I can look after myself.”

“You’re a one-handed town boy in a wild, wild forest. Think I don’t know what I’m talking about? Look there.”

Two twin oaks stood a good distance away, one with leaves faintly tinted violet along the edge and one with normal, green leaves. They were shorter and stouter than most others.

“Do you know what happens if you get to close to the green one?”

Martin shook his head.

“The roots snag your feet and lock you in place until they fancy letting you go, which could take days. I call them anklesnatchers. And the one with the violet leaves? What happens if you get too close to that one?”

“I get eaten?”

“No. Absolutely nothing happens. It’s just a tree.”

“I see your point,” said Martin. “But I wasn’t alone. I had Bramble helping me until you scared him off.”

She rolled her eyes. “That bean? Please. Like it or not, we need a proper search plan, and we need maps for that, and we need Podgin for maps.”

At that very moment, the door groaned open. Out stepped the shortest man Martin had ever seen. Bushy eyebrows scrunched together over his dark eyes, and his nose was as red as a boiled tomato. A woolly beard sprang in all directions from his box jaw. He wore a gray robe, which looked more like a nightgown than anything else, all the way down to his hairy toes.

“Good gobs of goose feathers,” said Podgin. “What do you want?”

Illo plastered an ear-to-ear smile on her face. “Good afternoon, friendly neighbor Podgin.”

Podgin stuck his head out from under the bank just enough to see the sky. “Is it already?”

“Yes it is,” said Illo. “What have you been up to all day that’s got you smelling so...loamy?”

Podgin ignored her question. He eyed the small party warily. “I see you’ve brought the feathery fur ball. Mind your distance, Aguilax, as I’m feeling rather sensitive today. But I don’t recognize that one.” He pointed at Martin with a sooty finger.

“He’s not from the forest,” said Illo. “His name is Martin, he says he’s from the outside, and he insists there’s a whole village of people where he comes from. What was it again? Bingdum?”

“Bardun,” said Martin.

“Close enough. Anyways, that’s all according to him. I’m still not convinced.”

“Of course there’s a village outside the forest,” said Podgin, still behind the half-open door. “You ought to know that.”

Illo scowled and mumbled an excuse.

“So why is he with you? And more importantly, why are any of you here? It’s not a good time. I’m terribly busy, and I’d prefer to be left alone.” He sucked the soot off his finger.

Illo smelled the air. “You’re making stuffed mushrooms, aren’t you?”

“No I’m not, and you can’t have any. You can’t come in, either. I haven’t got time for any more life-threatening shenanigans, and I can already feel a sneeze coming on.”

“Come on, Podgin,” said Illo. “We came all this way to help him,” she jerked her thumb at Martin. “Don’t be such a hedgehog.”

“Then I’ll let the town boy in, if it makes you feel any worse. And I’ll offer him a stuffed mushroom, which I’m not making.” He licked the next finger and nodded approvingly.

“But Fella sent us.”

“Give her my warmest regards. Good day.”

Podgin retreated into his dwelling and shut the door before anyone could stop him.

Illo groaned. “I could have started a new pit by now and saved myself the trouble.” She banged on the door with both fists this time. “I know you’re on the other side, Podgin, waiting to hear us walk away, so let me tell you something. While I was tracking bog boar the other day, I spotted truffle brule around a red oak not far from our place. I promise to tell you where it is if you let us in.”

The door cracked open. Podgin’s nose emerged, nearly trembling with anticipation. “New patch, eh?” The crack widened. “Black or white?”

Illo threw her hands up. “How should I know? I didn’t dig the nasty things up.”

Podgin’s beard and eyes joined the nose. Neither were happy. “Take that back or I’ll lock the door and cork my ears so I can’t hear you pound or shout.”

“Fine, they’re not nasty. Can we please come in now?”

“The brule spot and a spade to borrow. Mine broke last week.”

“Yes, yes, a spade too. While we’re at it, want me to dance while you dig?”

“Good heavens, no. You’ve upset the truffles enough already.” Podgin eyed the trio one last time. Then he sighed, ran his hands through his beard, and stepped aside. “Wipe your feet, mind you don’t touch anything, and…” He never finished his thought, for as Aguilax trotted by his eyes watered and he gave a mighty sneeze.

Martin dipped his head to dodge the door frame. There was no mat or carpet to wipe his feet on, so he followed the others down a musty hall and into the belly of Podgin’s hole in the bank.

Unlike the cottage Illo, Fella, and Aguilax lived in, Podgin’s dwelling consisted of a single room with a low, arched ceiling. If the cottage felt cluttered, this room was a pandemonium of seating furniture and stacks of chests, drawer cabinets, and boxes full of tools and knick-knacks. What little wall space remained featured carved clocks and empty frames and pegs for hanging mugs.

“He’s a bit of a hoarder,” Illo told Martin.

One half of the room stood apart as a kitchen, complete with a brick stove, from which hung a bucket with ashes still glowing orange. From the stove drifted the aroma of what Martin could only assume were stuffed mushrooms.

Podgin glanced longingly at the stove before rummaging for a pair of stools, which he placed as far away from the kitchen as he could. Then he cleared a stack of leather shoes from a cushioned chair and sat across from them. His feet dangled an inch or two above the floor. He pulled a bulbous root from the depths of his robe and held it out in Martin’s direction.

“Chicory?”

“No, thank you,” said Martin.

Podgin looked relieved. He bit off the end of the root and chewed loudly. “Now. What do I have to do to get my spade and brule patch?”

“It’s like this,” said Illo, squirming to find a comfortable position on her stool. “Earlier today, Martin came into the woods because who-knows-why, and fell into the river—the Turtlegabble, if I understood his story correctly.”

“Turtlegabble?” Martin interrupted. “Who would ever name a river that?”

“Anyone who pays attention would,” Illo snapped. “If you stay quiet and listen, it sounds like a bunch of arguing turtles. As I was saying, this friend of his, Elodie, was with him, and she fell in too.”

Podgin took another bite of chicory root. “Goodness me. Do town folk often fall into things?”

“We didn’t just fall,” said Martin. “A branch dropped from a tree, and I broke the rail trying to dodge it. Elodie jumped in after me, since I’m not the best swimmer.”

“It’s okay to admit you just fell in,” said Illo.

“I’m telling the truth! By the time I got out of the water, Elodie was gone. I figured she swam out and was looking for me, so I headed back upriver to meet up with her. Then a really big snake dropped down from a tree, and—”

“Hold on,” said Illo. “You didn’t mention any snake last time.”

“It didn’t seem that important.”

“What color was it?”

“Green. Sort of like a lime.”

“Thick scales and a flat head?”

He nodded. “Can I keep going now?”

She gave him a hard look but said nothing more.

“That little thing, Bramble, drove the snake away,” Martin continued. “He told me he had seen Elodie and could take me to her. What is he, by the way?”

“More trouble and mischief than is worth any of our attention,” said Podgin. “Most of the time he sticks to himself. I’m surprised he offered to help you.”

“He sounded like he wanted to be friends.”

“That would be a first,” said Illo.

“After that,” said Martin, “I think he got a little lost. We tried to cross that place where the bog boars are—”

“Used to be,” said Illo.

“—and fell into a hole.”

“It wasn’t a hole,” she objected. “It was a pit. My pit. My best pit. The pit that I spent a long time digging and an even longer time hiding. He galumphed right into it and wasted all my work. That’s why I took him with me. I thought Fella would make him pay me back somehow. Boy was I wrong. I had to make supper for everyone, and next thing you know I’m in charge of a search and rescue party.”

By that time most of Podgin’s chicory root was gone. “It certainly sounds like everyone’s had a downright miserable day, but I don’t see why you had to bring your troubles to me.”

“We need your truffle map.”

“Not my truffle map!” Podgin’s lip stuck out. “I spent years marking off all those spots. What if you soil it? Or tear it? Or lose it? What if Aguilax licks it just to spite me?”

“I promise to take care of it. Remember the soup jar Fella sent for your cold last month? You owe us.”

“Soup is just water and onions pretending to be food,” said Podgin.

“He has a point there,” said Martin. “We make a lot of soup at the Cabbage Cart, and there’s usually onion in it.”

“You’re extraordinary,” said Illo, shaking her head. “Now, where’s the map?”

Podgin slouched in his seat. “I was worried about the humidity, so I tucked it neatly in the pages of that cumbersome book nobody ever reads, along with my favorite mushroom recipes. You know, valuables I can’t afford to misplace.”

“And the book is...?”

Podgin shrugged. “Haven’t seen it since March.”

“Great. Make yourself useful, Martin, and help me find it,” said Illo. She launched a full assault on Podgin’s haphazard piles of belongings.

Martin jumped to the task, glad to finally take action. He tackled the nearest stack of boxes. “What sort of book are we looking for?”

Illo dug through opposite side of the room. “It’s old, brown, and almost as thick as you are. You’ll know it if you find it.”

Digging through the pyramids of possessions was no easy task with one hand. Martin had to brace himself against the wall with his left arm and rummage with his right. Meanwhile, Podgin danced back and forth between him and Illo, spouting warnings and laments in equal amounts, all of which went ignored.

Chance favored Martin. After discarding a dusty tin pot, his fingers brushed against the leather binding of a heavy book. He pulled it loose, causing a minor item avalanche, and held it up.

“Got it.”

“Thank goodness,” said Illo. She joined him in the middle of the room.

Martin squinted and read the faded title out loud. “Forest Flora and Fauna, from Floodweed to Fanged Fledglings. Who writes things like this?”

“Someone who’s been dead for a hundred years, probably,” said Illo.

She took the book and leafed through it. There were pages upon pages on all sorts of forest creatures, some perfectly ordinary, some wild and unfamiliar. Each named creature, plant and animal alike, had sketches and diagrams and neat paragraphs of description to go with it.

“It’s a bestiary,” said Martin.

Illo shook her head. “I used that word the first time I saw this book, but Fella wasn’t too fond of the term. She called it a reference journal. I was young at the time, so I didn’t even know what reference meant.”

“I wonder if Bramble has a page of his own.”

“Nope,” she said. “I checked.”

“You’ve read this whole thing?”

“Read? No way. I don’t have time for that many words. But I looked at most of the drawings.”

“Can I see it for a minute? I just got an idea.”

She handed it back to him, and he carried it to his stool where he could set it comfortably on his knees. The others gathered behind him.

Martin sped through the pages until his finger landed on a sketch of a long, thick snake with pronounced scales and a spade-shaped head. Sage Viper. Of all the pages, this one had the most information jotted under the sketch.

“Is that what you were looking for?” Illo looked away from the page.

“No,” said Martin. “But now that I’ve seen it like this, I wonder...” He tugged at his leather sleeve.

Illo caught the motion. “I doubt it. Sage viper fangs leave a clear mark. Besides, out of all the venomous bites you can get in the woods, a sage viper’s spreads the fastest. It’ll paralyze you within the hour. No time for amputations.”

“How do you know that?”

“Like I said, I looked at the drawings.” She leaned over and turned the page for him. “Whatever else you want to see, check it quickly. If you want to read the whole thing, borrow it after I’m done with you.”

“It’s fine,” said Martin, closing the book. “I was just curious to see if Nayadu was in there.”

“Where’d you hear that name?”

“Bramble mentioned it. He said Nayadu was a shape-shifter, or at least that’s what I think he meant. Are those real?”

“They’re called morphers, and it’d be hard to tell, wouldn’t it?” said Illo. “Nayadu’s a beast, a monster, something lurking in the darkest, slimiest caves in the forests.” She wiggled her fingers in his face.

“I’m not sure how seriously to take you,” said Martin.

“This forest is deep,” said Aguilax. “Deeper than you town humans could even imagine. Looking for reliable information about Nayadu, or any morpher, for that matter, is a pointless endeavor. Monster or otherwise, she’s a mystery.”

“In other words,” said Illo, “Bramble is a nincompoop.” She grabbed the book and flipped to the back. Several folded scraps of paper slid out. “I believe this is what we need.”

The yellow fragment she opened was a maze of lines, circles, dirt smudges, and fingerprints. Illo put the book down. She squinted at the jumbled markings.

“Let’s take it outdoors. I can’t see squat in this light.”

The four of them grouped around the map outside by the earth bank.

“Please don’t hurt it,” said Podgin.

Illo turned away from him. “Take a look, Martin. See this squiggle? That’s Podgin’s artistic rendition of the Turtlegabble. Your bridge is somewhere along this stretch.” She jabbed her finger at the parchment. “Now, Elodie’s on foot, correct?”

“I don’t see why she wouldn’t be,” said Martin.

“How much time passed between your spill into the river and your spill into my pit?”

“I wasn’t keeping track,” he said. “An hour or two? Maybe more.”

Illo frowned. She drew an invisible circle around the Turtlegabble. “Then this is our search radius. It’s a big area. That’s the bad news. The good news is that my house and Podgin’s hole are both in it. The fastest way to—”

Martin cut her off. “Listen. Does anyone else hear voices?”

The four of them paused. Heads shook all around.

“As I was saying, the fastest way to cover the circle will be to split up,” said Illo. “Podgin can teach you how to make a grass whistle. We’ll—”

“Hold on,” said Martin. “There it is again. I hear singing.”

“Will you quit interrupting me? I’m trying to make a plan.”

Podgin cupped his hairy hands to his ears. “Good gumtree glop, he’s right. I hear singing, too.”

Tuneless voices floated through the air, stronger by the second. Martin grinned smugly. It felt good not to be wrong for once, but when he noticed the alarm on Illo’s face, the good feeling melted away.

“What is it?”

Illo grabbed her bow. “Those are dryads.”

“Dryads?” Martin exclaimed. No one answered him.

“Today’s turning out to be a horrid day,” said Podgin. “Just watch, they’ll trample right through the portabellas.”

“They’re trampling right through our search radius, you mean,” said Illo. “That’s what worries me. Dryads never come this far west.” She pulled an arrow from her quiver.

“No need for that. I’ll take a look,” said Aguilax. “Don’t worry, Podgin. I’ll give them a good fright if they wander too close to the portabellas.” He took off.

Illo watched him go, twirling her arrow in her fingers. “Let’s hope they’re just passing through.”

5. A Badger Ride

Elodie woke slowly. The process took effort, like climbing out of a well. The colors around her blurred like the paintings in Mayor Clarenbald’s study. Water popped in her ears. She shook her head to clear the fog and received the first pounds of a headache as her reward. The river roared somewhere nearby, though she couldn’t see it. Martin must have pulled them out somehow.

Damp strands of hair stuck to her forehead and hung over her eyes. She tried to brush them aside so she could get a better view of where she was, but found to her surprise that she couldn’t move her arms at all. As the nerves in her body slowly kicked to life, she felt something hard and rough press between her shoulders and rub against her arms.

She was sitting against a green sapling with her wrists bound to the trunk. She couldn’t see the river or the bridge, and to make matters worse, Martin was missing.

Elodie squirmed, trying to loosen the cords holding her in place, but her jostling only skinned her elbows. She took a few deep breaths. What on earth was going on? This wasn’t right. No one back home had ever meant her harm, not even old Hergelo Stump, for all the times she had sneaked around the Cabbage Cart behind his back. And yet here she was, tied to a tree without a clue where she was.

She called Martin’s name. Nothing. Bewildered, she bit back a string of unpleasant words and tried again to free her hands, with the same results as before. A handful of worrisome thoughts passed through her mind at once. She had been found by thieves. They were holding her ransom. Martin had been taken as well. Or worse, what if he hadn’t made it out at all? What if he had drowned? What if kidnappers had taken her without realizing he was in the river too, and he had gotten out and thought she had drowned?

With another shake of her head Elodie shut out those ideas. More likely than not, someone was playing a cruel practical joke on her. Yes, that had to be it.

“Martin!”

The forest remained as silent as an empty room.

Elodie sat still, trying to think of a clever way to get herself out of the knots and out of the woods. If Martin was in on the joke, she...well, she didn’t know what she would do, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

A breeze picked up, and between that and her wet clothes, she was soon shivering. Only then did she notice that her shawl was gone as well. She tried to ignore the chill and counted out two full minutes. She was about to shout for Martin a third time when she heard movement behind her.

Her breath caught in her chest. All the rumors about the forest Elodie had gleaned from Mayor Clarenbald’s maids came back to her, exclamations and gasps over tales of bears, wolves, and worse. But before she could decide whether to play dead or to make as much noise as she could, the voices came.

They whispered, but the result was the loudest whispering Elodie had ever heard. There were three, no, four of them, and she held still as they came closer.

“Look. She’s shivering.”

“Of course she’s shivering. She’s all soggy, and you put her in the shade.”

“I didn’t put her in the shade! Nettle was the one who tied her up.”

“We should have tied her up in the sun so she could dry.”

“What’s the point in making her comfortable? She’s our prisoner.”

“The king wants a flower, not a fish. We need to let her dry.”

“We haven’t got any hanging pins.”

“I bet she’s cold, too. Perhaps we should have kept the blanket after all.”

“That wasn’t a blanket, it was a scarf of some sort. You’re as thick as a stuffed quail.”

“Anyways, it’s too late for that. The scarf-blanket is gone, and there’s no point trying to track it down now.”

There was a pause. Elodie let out her breath slowly and quietly.

“Should we move her?”

“No, wake her first.”

“I say we move her and let her wake on her own when she pleases. No need to frighten her.”

“You’re all as blind as bulbs, she was moving when we got back.”

“She can’t be awake already. If she were awake, she’d be screaming.”

“Yes, right. If she were awake, she would definitely be screaming.”

Elodie was fed up. “I am awake,” she said loudly. “And I’m not screaming. If you’re going to rob me, or hurt me, or keep me for ransom, you may as well have the decency to show yourselves.”

The voices went quiet. Then a figure slowly stepped around the tree and stood before her.

Elodie gasped. She hadn’t known whom to expect, but whom wasn’t the word in this case. What was more appropriate, because her captor wasn’t human at all. It looked like a man, but it was short, no more than four feet tall. Its skin was coarse and dark like tree bark, and where its joints met, branch knobs stuck out. Its ears were long and tapered to a point, its hair was like wild grass, and its amber eyes peered at her like a cat’s.

The thing pointed a spear at her. “Now, let’s set things straight, human. You’re our prisoner, whether you like it or not. That means you have to do as we say or suffer the consequences.”

“Can I at least ask a question?” Elodie said.

The spear inched closer. “You may.”

She tried not to look at the weapon’s sharp point. “What are you, and why are you holding me against my will?”

The creature blinked its yellow eyes. “That was two questions.”

“Hasn’t she ever seen a dryad before?” said one of the voices behind her.

“Dryads?” Elodie exclaimed. “Dryads aren’t real.”

“Not real!” said the one in before her. “Did a turtle blossom swallow you and not spit you out for a hundred years? I am General Tum, commander of the dryad army and loyal servant of King Prickle. Prune my arms if you think I’m not real, and see if I don’t holler. Which, by the way,” he added quickly, “I wouldn’t.”

General Tum lowered his spear. He motioned with his hand, and one by one, three more dryads came to stand beside their leader. They all looked half-human, half-tree, but at the same time they were each different. The one standing next to General Tum had no hair on his head at all and his mouth turned down in a scowl. The second dryad had eyes as pink as rose petals, and the last was a sickly green color that stood out next to his brown comrades.

The dryads stared back at her with their spears half-raised, as if they were torn between curiosity and a willingness to skewer her on a whim.

Tum pointed at each of them in turn. “This is Root and Nim and Nettle,” he said, finishing with the green dryad.

Elodie mouthed the names to herself. “Nettle. Is he younger than the rest of you?”

The three others glanced at the dryad in question.

“Correct,” said Tum. “He’s not much more than a sapling.”

“She’s clever, for a human,” said Nim, the dryad with the pink eyes.

“The king will like that,” said Tum.

“I don’t imagine he’ll care if she’s clever or thick,” said Root, tapping his bald head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elodie asked. She tested the ropes again, just in case. They didn’t yield an inch.

“Never mind that for now,” said general Tum. “We’ve got business to tend to first.” He turned to his companions. “Fetch the food, Nettle, and don’t drop the basket again. Nim and Root, untie the girl and move her into the sun. Where have the badgers wandered off to this time?”

Nobody answered him. Nettle hurried off out of sight, and Root and Nim got to work on the knots around her wrists. Their twiggy fingers scratched at her skin.

The dryads led Elodie to the aforementioned patch of sunlight and sat her down. She briefly considered trying to run during the few seconds she was free, but decided against it. Her legs were stiff, she wouldn’t know which direction to go, and the dryads still hadn’t put down their spears. She didn’t want to find out how good their aim was.

General Tum stood over her. “What’s your name, little flower?”

“I’m bigger than you are,” she retorted. “And my name is Elodie.”

“Three syllables are too many for a decent name, if you ask me.”

Root retied her hands behind her back. At least this time she didn’t have a tree digging into her spine. Nettle soon returned with a horn-shaped basket strapped to his back. The other dryads gathered around him and began to pull out its contents, which consisted mostly of fresh fruit and bread.

Tum set aside five equal portions and brought Elodie her share. She wasn’t particularly hungry at the time, but she didn’t know when she would have another chance to eat.

“I don’t have levitation powers,” she said. “So unless one of you wants to break pieces off for me, keeping my hands tied isn’t very practical.”

The dryads all looked at Nettle, who vigorously shook his head. Tum slipped behind her and had the knots undone in no time.

“I just finished those,” Root grumbled over a mouthful of plum.

Tum tapped the ground between Elodie’s feet with his spear before retreating. The message was clear. She wasn’t going anywhere.

She ate slowly, keeping a wary eye on the dryads. As they stuffed their mouths with chunks of bread and dripping fruit, they talked among themselves, and now and then one of them would sneak a look in her direction—mostly Nettle. Nim spoke the least, never more than a few words at a time, but the others made up for his lack of conversation. Though she couldn’t hear what they were saying, she noticed Root wasn’t too pleased about the topic of discussion. She wondered if he was ever pleased about anything.

When she grew bored of watching them, Elodie considered her predicament. From falling branches and river plunges to dryads and ropes and spears, things had certainly spiraled into the uncontrollable unknown since she and Martin had entered the forest. She still didn’t know what the dryads wanted from her, and they hadn’t shown much interest in explaining themselves.

“You never answered my second question,” said Elodie.

All four knobby heads looked up as one, and their chatter stopped.

“That is,” she added, “I think I deserve to know what you want with me and what happened to my friend.”

“Friend?” said Nettle to the others. “What friend?”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Tum. “You were alone.”

The dryads finished eating and placed the leftovers back in Nettle’s wicker basket. They stood, stretched, and licked their fingers as if they had just enjoyed a picnic.

“The badgers are still gone,” Nettle pointed out. “I bet they went to splash about in the river.”

“Yes, someone should do something about that,” said Tum.

The others looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, right.” Tum pursed his lips and whistled.

Almost immediately there came from the forest loud crashes and grunts, and five sleek badgers, bigger than any Elodie thought possible, bounded into the clearing. They jumped up at the dryads, sniffing at their faces like eager dogs.

“Stop that,” said Tum. “Settle down, I say.” He whistled again.

The badgers grouped together and sat down.

“Better.” Tum motioned Elodie over. “Have you ever ridden a badger before?”

“Of course not,” she said.

“Today you will,” he said cheerfully. “It’s not hard. Just hop on and hold on, as they say. Take that one. He’s not as prone to tossing his rider as the others. Nettle took a nasty spill on our way down, but we won’t put you through that.”

“Do they have names?”

“I imagine so,” said Tum. “But they’re badger names, tricky to pronounce, so we haven’t bothered asking. Now, up you go.”

As a child, Elodie had tried to ride one of the goats on the farm outside town. Swinging her leg over the badger’s furry back brought back sore memories.

The dryads mounted their badgers amid a flurry of hops, complaints, and grunts. Only Elodie’s remained still for more than a few seconds at a time, for which she was thankful. Then Tum raised his spear.

“Now, soldiers—and lady—forest inward we go!”

The badgers took off at a bumpy lope. Elodie clutched handfuls of the animal’s shiny coat to keep from sliding off. She looked over her shoulder at the receding clearing, now empty. Finding Martin would have to wait until she got herself out of this mess.

* * *

Tum led Elodie and the dryads at a brisk pace. They twisted and turned with the forest, and it felt to Elodie like they were going in circles. The forest itself had no end.

Each sharp turn, bounce, and bound sent another jolt up Elodie’s spine, and within an hour her backside felt bruised beyond repair. The dryads made sure to keep her in the center of the line, not that she had any chances to dismount without risking a broken bone or two.

The badgers woofed and grunted amongst each other and the dryads kept a lively conversation of their own. Most of it revolved around dryad dames, old battles—against whom, Elodie never figured out—and who was the best at throwing spears. Elodie soon lost interest.

When they ran out of things to brag about, Nettle, who rode just ahead of Elodie, started humming a tune. Tum added words, and soon even Root and Nim joined with their voices.

The combination wasn’t particularly musical, but it was bold and lively, and it gave Elodie something to keep her mind busy.

Sprouting warrior, throw your spear

Lend your might to best the deep

No merriment or rest or sleep

When fetid fangs are near

But if you hear the shifting growl

Scurry home, lad, break no vow

Strike no stone, bend no bough

Lest Nayadu be on the prowl

The dryads sang through the whole song twice.

Then Elodie asked, “What’s Nayadu?”

Nettle looked at her as if he had forgotten she was with them. “You could hear us?”

“Of course I could, you’re right in front of me.”

The young dryad flushed bright green.

“It’s part of an old dryad composition,” said Tum. “It’s about one of our forest legends. Nayadu was a beast, a wild thing that took many forms. Some of the old, old dryads, the ones who’ve lived for a hundred and fifty years, claim they used to see Nayadu wandering the woods as a great bear or dashing among the trees as a squirrel. But they said her true form is too terrifying for anyone to look at. Nowadays, we dryads are a more sensible folk, and we know it’s just a story.”

“When I was little, my sweet mother used to recite the words to me to make sure I never wandered far from home,” said Nettle. “She told me Nayadu might gobble me up. I used to believe her.”

“Generally speaking, dryads don’t go wandering unless we have to,” said Tum.

“Because of the Nayadu stories?”

“Yes, and other things. Nasty things.”

“Like fetid fangs,” Nettle offered cheerfully. Then he frowned. “Whatever those are.”

Tum cuffed him on the head. “At the end of the day, human, you’re lucky to have ended up with us. You’re not from the forest, and if you’d gone off by yourself, who knows what you would have found?”

Elodie disagreed, but she decided not to argue.

Through the leafy ceiling dozens of yards above them, the dappled sunlight began to dim. Evening was closing in fast, and though her clothes had almost completely dried during the ride, Elodie hoped they reached their destination soon. A cold wasn’t something she wanted to add to her growing list of problems.

The dryads slipped back into song now and then, belting out fragmented lines one moment and joining in for a full performance the next. By the time they had done this three times, Elodie thought drowning in the river would have been better than listening to the dryad’s merry croaking.

She had mustered the courage to ask how much longer they had to go when Tum whipped up a hand at the front of the line. A few more whistles and kicks brought the badgers to halt.

Elodie spotted a trail of smoke floating up through the trees farther ahead, though its source remained concealed by the forest. She thought they had arrived wherever the dryads were taking her, but a disgusted grunt from Root suggested otherwise.

“I thought we weren’t going to come back this way,” said Nettle. “The only reason I fell off my badger is because the greedy thing smelled mushrooms and took off running.”

Tum cleared his throat. “Yes, well, maybe I wasn’t paying so much attention to directions and whatnot.” He patted his badger fondly between the ears. “I don’t think yours is the only badger with a keen nose, Nettle. But no matter. It hasn’t set us off course. This time,” he said to the badger, “I’ll decide which way we go, you gluttonous grub-tub.”

“Since we’re here, may we drop a hedgehog down his chimney?” Nettle sounded hopeful.

“Yes,” said Root. “You go off a-hunting for hedgehogs while the rest of us sit here and watch the sun go down.” And he walloped him on the head.

With a final shake of his head, Tum led the band around the hidden house. Elodie caught a glimpse of an earth bank with a chimney sticking out of it, but the badgers plodded away and the dwelling disappeared from view. She wondered who lived in it, not that it mattered much to her at this point.

The dryads took her farther and farther into the woods, and she began to notice more signs of life. Birds and insects bigger than she had ever have wanted to see paid no heed to the dryads and their prisoner, though a few colorful squirrels dropped to lower branches to express their opinions.

Elodie gradually began to appreciate just how beautiful the forest was. Sweeping branches and twisting roots flowed into a majestic tapestry, burrows and hollows pocketed the scenery like dozens of mysterious doors into deep and undiscovered lairs, and the patches of red and purple and yellow flowers made even the clover fields outside Bardun Village look like mere paintings of the real thing. The badgers splashed through streams as clear as washed windows and hopped along lengths of root so thick they could walk two abreast. Elodie almost forgot she was being held captive.

Tum signaled the band to stop again. The dryads coaxed the badgers into silence. Without any movement they blended in almost seamlessly with the trees around them. Tum raised his spear and made signals to the others with his fingers. He and Root moved farther ahead, spears at the ready.

“What’s going on?” Elodie asked the other two.

Nim studied the forest behind them, his eyes narrowed to slits.

“Don’t you smell it?” said Nettle.

She sniffed the air. “Nothing out of the ordinary, I don’t think.”

The young dryad shook his head at her in bewilderment. “How would you describe it, Nim?”

“Quiet.”

“That’s odd. How can a smell be quiet? I think it smells like feathers. Big feathers.”

“No, I mean be quiet.”

Nettle clamped his mouth shut.

Elodie watched the dryads closely. Three of them had their backs turned to her, distracted by whatever it was she was supposed to be able to smell. Only Nettle stayed to guard her.

She glanced at Tum one more time, slid off her badger, and bolted. She ran fast and she ran straight, ignoring the pain in her stiff legs. Nettle gave an incoherent shout of alarm, but she didn’t look back.

Nim yelled after her, though the only word she understood was ‘stop’, and she had no intention of doing that. She willed herself to go faster, bounding over grasping roots and zigzagging around trunks to dodge any potential spears coming her way.

Elodie headed back towards the earth bank with the smoking chimney. Anyone could live there, friend or foe, but she would take her chances.

She didn’t get far. A winged creature swooped down to block her path. She skidded to a stop. Feathered wings filled her vision and beat up a swirl of leaves in her face. Paws grabbed her shoulders. Claws dug into her skin. She jerked her body around, twisting free of her assailant.

It was a great lynx with wings like those of an eagle. Having failed its first attack, it swooped back up to the forest’s ceiling before circling and coming at her a second time.

Elodie scrambled to get out of the cat’s path, but she tripped on her own feet and landed on her rear. The lynx reached for her.

The dryads on their badgers leaped over her from behind and cut off the lynx’s descent with their spears. The lynx narrowly avoided impaling itself and spun off to the right.

The dryads shouted at their badgers, weaving to and fro to keep themselves between Elodie and the lynx. The lynx had little interest in dryads and spears, however, and it flew away with a hiss.

When she was sure the cat was gone, Elodie let out a rush of breath and tried to stand. Her legs thought it would be a better idea to wobble like a marionette, landing her back on her backside in a trice.

Root yanked her up. She brushed him away, annoyed both at his rough handling of her and at the fact that her heart wouldn’t stop hammering.

“I warned you not to run off,” said Tum, jabbing his spear into the ground. “Beasts like that one are just one of the reasons. I’ll tell you once, and you’ll listen if you want to stay alive. The forest isn’t some quaint little garden for you to explore.”

Tum whistled for Elodie’s badger. “We don’t have much farther to go,” he said. “Please, stop making our job harder than it has to be. You’ve been pleasant company, all things considered, but Root suggested tying you to a pole while you were still unconscious. Don’t make me regret saying no.”

He yanked his spear free and spun away. Nettle offered her a sympathetic smile.

The badgers took a few moments to reform the line. Elodie glared at her mount, as though it was the clueless animal’s fault she hadn’t gotten away. She would try again as soon as she got the chance. These dryads had yet to find out how stubborn she could be.

* * *

The sun was an orange disk, low behind the trunks, when the party of five hyper badgers, four dryad soldiers, and one exhausted girl came to a halt. The trees thinned out not far ahead, but with the sun so low, it was hard to see what waited beyond them.

“We’re here,” said Tum, guiding his badger to stand beside Elodie’s. “Few outsiders have seen what you’re about to see. Now, I’m not dumb. I can tell you’re as ready to run as a hare in a butcher’s shop, but please don’t try it again. Nettle likes you, and even I have to admit you’ve been a fair sport so far. Let’s keep it that way.”

“You still won’t tell me what you want from me?”

Tum smiled faintly and patted her arm. “I may be a general, but even I have to follow orders.” Then he said to the others, “Let’s go.”

He wheeled his badger around and headed for the tree line. The badgers grew restless, pawing the ground and tossing their shoulders. Even Elodie’s mount acted excited.

“They know we’re home, and home means food,” said Nettle, clinging to his badger’s neck as the animal hopped around gleefully.

“I don’t blame them,” said Elodie. “It must be nice to be able to go home.”

Nettle caught her gaze. His eyes dropped, and he turned away quietly. The badgers pranced ahead, giving Elodie one last shake before clearing the trees. What Elodie saw next took her breath away.

A lake shimmered before them, as smooth and glassy as Mayor Clarenbald’s polished desk. The water flared with sunset colors and mirrored the dark outlines of the trees. There was an island of pocketed stone in the middle of the lake, and from that island rose a fortress, a structure of stairways, balconies, and terraces that spiraled so wildly, they looked like part of the forest itself. The fortress was overtaken by vines, crawlers, and cascades of moss, and many of its towers and spires had crumbled long ago.

“How has no one ever found this before?” said Elodie.

“You’re a long way from the world beyond the woods,” said Tum. “This is the dryad palace, the domain of King Prickle himself. They say it has stood on that rock for hundreds of years.”

“Did your people build it?”

“Build it? Us? Nobody has time for that. We found it, and it was empty, so we moved in. Convenient, right?” He frowned. “Though it needs tidying up. Oh, well. Some other year.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to swim across,” said Elodie.

“If you knew what was in that water, you wouldn’t stick a toe in it,” said Nim.

Tum shook his head. “Must you be so grim about everything? But no, we’re not swimming. Nettle, if you would.”

“Oh, right!” Nettle unslung the wicker basket and dug through it.

He threw out the leftover food, which the badgers snapped up, and rummaged around with both arms until he found what he was looking for. He handed Tum a sleek, curved horn. Tum raised the horn to his lips and blew. A sputtered bleat spat out, along with chunks of plum and breadcrumbs.

“Nettle!”

“Sorry.”

Tum sighed, wiped fruit pulp from his mouth, and tried again. This time the horn rang true, a single note that sprang off the island rock and the fortress walls. Faint voices shouted incoherently from the gatehouse, followed by a shudder and a deep groan in the earth. The water in the lake trembled and broke as great stone pillars rose from below the surface. When they were level with the gate on the island, the pillars locked in place to form a bridge.

Elodie watched the process in amazement. “How does it all work?”

“Like I said, we didn’t build it. Not even King Prickle knows how all the gears and bolts are put together,” said Tum. “If it ever breaks, we’ll be in a spot of trouble. But it’s fun to watch, isn’t it?”

The lake settled around the pillars. Across the bridge, the gates creaked open. The dryads kicked the badgers into motion, and they started across the bridge.

Elodie looked over her shoulder at the receding forest. Behind those gates lay the unknown reason for her capture. Once in the palace, how hard would it be to get back out?

Her legs itched with the urge to run. She could try again. She should. But before she could make up her mind, they passed under the arch.

The gates shut.

6. Mad King Prickle

Aguilax returned as quickly as he had sped off. His feathers were ruffled and his ears down. “Those ruffians have spears,” he panted. “They tried to skewer me.”

“What about Elodie?” Martin said. “Any sign of her?”

“Oh, she’s with them, without a doubt. I flew in low, just to scout things out, you see, but I found the girl before I ever found the dryads. She was running like the wind behind schedule. Fast, that one.”

“What happened? Did you tell her I was coming?”

“I’m afraid my instincts were swifter than my brain,” said Aguilax. “She was moving fast, and I was moving fast, and the dryads were moving fast, so I thought the best thing would be to bring her here and explain myself later. But I didn’t want to harm her, and she’s got a vicious swing. Before I could change tactics, the dryads came a-galloping on their badgers. At that point it was fly away or get my wings clipped. If my tongue were as quick as my paws I might have better news.”

Martin kicked at a tuft of grass.

Aguilax licked a few patches of fur back into place. “On the bright side, now we know where she is and that she’s not hurt.”

“You’re right,” said Martin. “I know she can take care of herself. Still, the sooner we both get back home, the better. I need to get to her.”

Podgin put his hands to his head.

“The dryads live in an abandoned fortress somewhere east of here,” said Illo. “I’ve never been there, but they say it’s on an island in the middle of a small lake. That’s where they’ll take Elodie.”

“But why? Are they kidnappers?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Dryads are a reclusive people. I hardly ever see them out in these parts.”

“Right. We got lucky, and I won’t waste it. I appreciate everything you’ve done to help. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“As much as I like that idea,” said Illo, “Fella told me to help you find Elodie, and she won’t let me back indoors if I quit before my job is properly done. Like it or not, you’re stuck with the three of us.”

Podgin backed away, rubbing his beard. “Two, you mean. My feet are sore, and the stuffed mushrooms I wasn’t making have gotten cold.”

Illo pinched his ear. “Don’t even think about it. Not two weeks ago you complained about falling into the lake on a truffle hunt. You’re the one who knows the quickest way to the dryad’s island from here. You’re coming with us.”

“I do?” Podgin whimpered. “I am?”

“If you won’t help out of kindness to a stranger, do it for the spade and truffles.”

“But I thought—”

“Then you’re only wasting everyone’s time.”

Podgin puckered his lips. “Very well. But we won’t make it far before dark.”

True to her word, Illo jumped into action. She sent Podgin back into his buried house to fetch a small sack of food. She went with him to return Forest Flora and Fauna, from Floodweed to Fanged Fledglings. Aguilax scouted the nearby area to make sure the dryads hadn’t doubled back to come after him.

“You never know what they’ll do for sport,” he said.

While they tended to these matters, Martin struggled to re-lace his shoes with his fingers and teeth, a task he had yet to master. The others returned while he was finishing the second shoe.

“Taste good?” Illo asked.

“You don’t want to know. Are we ready?”

They were, and they set off, following Podgin through the trees away from the earth bank. Now and then they came across evidence of the dryad’s trail, mostly in the form of badger diggings and droppings.

“They’re moving quickly,” Illo pointed out on one such occasion. “I’ve never ridden a badger, but I imagine they can cover distances pretty well.”

Darkness settled under the forest’s roof before the sun had fully set. Martin wanted to keep going, but Illo had them stop in a tight clearing. No amount of pleading swayed her from her decision to spend the night there.

“Maybe people can see at night where you’re from,” she said. “In here, dark means dark, and we’re not taking any dumb risks.”

“I can’t let them take her and do who-knows-what to her,” he protested.

“Knock yourself out.” She pointed into the utter darkness. “It’s that way. More or less. Keep in mind not everything out there is as friendly as I am.”

“She’s right,” said Aguilax. “You wouldn’t make it far.”

“What about you? Don’t lynxes hunt at night? You can lead me.”

“To what end? We know where they’re taking her, and if we’re to perform an extraction, it’ll be tricky enough during the day. Right now you humans can hardly see the ground between your feet.”

Martin didn’t want to give in, but he knew they were both right. As frustrating as it was, he had no choice other than to wait until the sun came up. He stormed off until he tripped on a log and fell. He decided it was as good a place to sit as any.

The others got into a debate over whether or not they should build a fire. Podgin waved a few sticks he had gathered in Illo’s face, saying she hadn’t given him time to dig out his old blanket, and they had to keep warm somehow. She waved her bow right back at him and reminded him just how many wild animals a fire would attract. Podgin then commented how wild animals would be better company than savage girls and feather-covered mousers, to which Aguilax took offense and clipped him on the face with the tip of his wing. Podgin yelped once, sneezed twice, and dropped the argument.

He joined Martin on the log. “A fine search party you’ve brought along with you.”

“At least she hasn’t pointed arrows at you yet,” Martin said glumly.

“Don’t assume so. Those two sisters and I have a bit of history behind us.” He sighed ruefully and dropped his sticks. “I’ll sneeze my own head off before the sun comes up, you’ll see. So what happened to your hand?”

“An animal attacked me near the edge of the woods. It happened about a year ago.”

He rubbed the sleeve with his thumb, thinking of Elodie and what it might take to free her from the dryads. As much as he needed help from his new companions, in the end it was up to him to get her back because it was his own clumsy fault they had fallen into the river in the first place.

“There’s a thing or two you should know about dryads before you face one in person,” said Podgin.

“Like what?”

“They’re mad, every last one of them. Loony as larks. But their king, he’s the maddest of them all.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I didn’t say it was,” said Podgin. “But now you know, so you won’t be fully flabbergasted when you find out what they want with your friend.” And with that, he sauntered off and became just another shadow.

Illo and Aguilax were dark shapes in the clearing, the cat curled up with his eyes gleaming in the night, the girl sitting motionless with her back to a tree, her bow resting on her knees.

Martin stayed on his log until the moon showed its face among the high branches. Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted. He wondered if it felt as lonely as he did. So much had happened recently, it was easy to imagine it had been days since he was last at Elodie’s side.

The owl went quiet. Martin felt that strange itch in his arm again, just like he had by the river. He squinted at his skin in the faint moonlight, but nothing had changed.

A shadow glided in front of the moon.

Martin stared into the dark. The others didn’t move. Aguilax’s eyes had shut, and Podgin snored. The sound reminded Martin of Evangeline’s contented wheezing whenever Percy washed her down.

Then, faintly, he heard the beating of wings, a slow, rhythmic rush of air. Something big propelling itself through the night sky. There one moment, gone the next.

Martin scooted over to Illo. She was awake.

“Did you hear that?”

She stirred, as if coming out of a deep thought. “Who can’t? I was just about to stick wads of grass up his nose.”

“Not that. I heard wings. Big wings. And I caught a glimpse of something flying overhead.”

“I heard it. Just the owl.”

“I don’t think it was that. This was bigger. And my old wound is itching. That’s the second time it’s happened since coming into the woods.”

Illo shifted against the tree and yawned. “You’re just stressed.”

“Do you...do you have any idea what it might have really been? The animal that cost me my hand?”

Her eyes were unreadable in the dark. “Get some sleep, hog-moggins. We’ll get you home tomorrow. Both of you.”

* * *

Martin slept soundly through the night despite the hard ground and his troubled mind. He woke when the sun was already poking misty rays through the branches. He stretched, coaxing a fair share of pops from his spine. The air was cool and new, and dew in the grass dampened his clothes.

He was on the ground with a shoulder tucked up against the log he had been sitting on. His back felt like a washboard, outdone only by his groaning legs. The others were still asleep. Illo hadn’t changed positions at all, but Aguilax had moved to the other side of the clearing and Podgin was no longer snoring.

A host of morning birds made a considerable racket all around them. He wondered how he hadn’t woken up sooner to the raucous noise.

Martin nearly jumped off the ground when something small and soft touched his arm. He looked down. Two blinking, blue eyes stared up at him.

“Bramble? What are you doing here?”

Bramble, for it was him, put a finger to his lips. “Must be quiet,” he whispered. “Must not wake Nayadu’s servants.”

“They’re nothing of the sort,” said Martin. “At the very least, they’re not the ones who ran off when I was in trouble.”

Bramble hung his head. “Bramble is ashamed.”

“It turned out all right, I suppose. They’re helping me to find Elodie.”

“The sun-drop girl?”

“Right. That’s what you call her.”

“Oh dear.” Bramble clutched his drooping ears. “Martin must be very careful.” He pointed at Illo’s sleeping form. “That one is the servant of Nayadu.” Then at Podgin. “And that one once threw a puffernut at Bramble.”

“They said I shouldn’t believe everything you say.”

Bramble pulled on his ears and looked away. “One for the trees, mustn’t shake the leaves. Mustn’t tell a lie, and mustn’t make a peep.”

Just then, Podgin stirred in his sleep and muttered something incoherent.

Bramble gave a little squeak. “Must go. Bramble is sorry. Martin must be careful. Must stay away from the dryad palace. Must—”

“Must hold on just one minute,” Martin interrupted him. “How did you know we were going to the dryad palace?”

Bramble blinked twice, pulled on his ears, and scampered into the woods.

Martin shook his head. Perhaps Fella was right. He shouldn’t listen to anything Bramble had to say. He only ended up more confused than ever when he did.

Podgin sneezed and sat up. “Good gopher giblets.” That was all he said.

With a groan and a yawn, Illo rose as well. “Aguilax, fetch my bow. I’ll put an arrow through every last one of those chirping abominations.”

“I’m glad to see we’re all getting up with utmost urgency,” said Martin, adjusting his leather sleeve. “We don’t have any time to waste.”

He decided not to mention Bramble’s visit or his cryptic warnings.

“You’ve clearly never had a dryad breakfast,” said Illo. “And good morning to you as well, while we’re at it.”

“For all I know, Elodie will be a dryad breakfast if we don’t hurry.”

Illo snorted. “Listen to yourself.”

Aguilax stretched his legs and licked a few key spots around his shoulders. “There was a time when I hunted at night and slept all morning, before I became a sociable animal.”

“So what’s your plan, trout-man?” asked Illo. She poked through the arrows in her quiver and strung her bow.

“I don’t have one. I thought you were the expert on capturing things.”

“I am,” she said. “But Elodie’s already been captured. I believe a rescue is more in order at this point, and I’ve never had to rescue anyone before.”

“Dryads are tree-people, right? We could threaten to burn down this palace of theirs if they don’t give her back.”

“They’re not afraid of fire,” said Aguilax. “In fact, they’re not afraid of many things at all.”

Martin threw his hands up. “I don’t know, then. I’ll think of something.”

“You’d better,” said Illo. “We’ll reach the palace soon.”

After a quick bite of the food Podgin brought, they gathered what little provisions and gear they had with them. Podgin held the food sack as if his life depended on it, making sure to keep Illo and Martin between him and Aguilax. He took a moment to find the path, and then the group left the clearing and stole closer to dryad territory.

* * *

Elodie spent the night in a chamber near the heart of the dryad palace. She was too tired to protest when Tum said goodnight and locked the door behind her. She blearily acknowledged the existence of a bed, sank onto it, and was out like a candle in the rain.

Strange dreams invaded her sleep. She floated in a dark space with no walls or floor or ceiling, and a voice called out to her in the distance. It was Martin’s voice, and though she couldn’t understand what he was saying, she knew he needed her. Then a hand reached from the dark, but instead of flesh and bone, elongated fingers of twisted wood stretched to her.

Lest Nayadu be on the prowl, came a warbled chant. The song bounced in her ears like echoes in a cave. Lest Nayadu be on the prowl. The hand reached for her throat, and she ran from it, but no matter how much she flailed it remained right behind her.

Then, all of a sudden, the voice and the hand disappeared. She was no longer in the dark, but in a forest where trees grew up and down and to the sides, and she was trapped among their thorny branches. Barbs ripped her clothes and pierced her skin, though she couldn’t feel any pain.

Small animals appeared through the thicket and darted past her feet. A rabbit, a shrew, a mole, a fawn. They ran right by her without looking up. A shape formed deep in the thorny wood, as black as the belly of the earth in its middle and fringed with silver light around the edge.

Hear the shifting growl. The chanting voice returned.

The shape morphed, expanding and contracting shifting between the shapes of humans and beasts. No face, no sound, just an ever-changing shadow in the trees.

Lest Nayadu be on the prowl.

Elodie woke and sat up stiff. Feeling like her face had been held underwater, she drew in gulps of air. She looked around. There were no dark places, no twisted hands, no thorns, and no shape-shifters. She knew she had been dreaming, but for a moment she thought it might have all followed her into the waking world.

“That’s the last time I listen to a dryad song,” she said to herself. Her throat was dry and scratchy.

She swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed and stretched her arms above her head. The palace halls outside her chamber were quiet, but the morning was still young. She wondered how much time she had before Tum and his companions came marching to the door.

Despite her dreams, Elodie felt refreshed, and she took a look around. Her quarters looked like a cell that wanted to be a garden but had given up halfway between both a hundred years ago. The ancient walls were made of cracked, gray stone. Vines and white flowers poked through the gaps. The moss-coated floor tickled her feet. The smell of the lake washed through an arched window, which overlooked a courtyard painted green by time and nature. Elodie crossed the room and leaned out. Though she easily fit through the window, there wasn’t much to climb up or down on the outside. Even with the moss to cushion her landing if she fell, a broken leg wouldn’t do her any favors.

Elodie put her weight against the dark wood on the other side of the room. The door stood firm. She put her ear to the wood. She heard tramping feet somewhere in the recesses of distant halls. Then quiet.

Suddenly, a loud knock right in her ear sent her heart halfway up her throat. She jumped back, clutching her hands to her chest. The door opened, and in came a short, stout dryad with bright blue eyes and the faintest trace of green in his limbs. He carried the same sort of wicker basket Nettle had on their expedition yesterday.

“Breakfast!” The dryad announced, louder than was necessary. Then he took a second glance at her. “Oh, no. I startled you, didn’t I?”

Elodie unclasped her hands. “A little bit.”

The tubby dryad dropped the basket on her bed. “Sorry about that. Everyone tells me not to be so loud about everything, but you never can tell who can and who can’t hear the knocks, what with these doors being so thick and all.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Elodie. “It really wasn’t that loud, but I had my ear pressed against the door when you knocked.”

The dryad looked confused. “Why were you doing that?”

“I was listening for anyone in the hall in case I could escape.”

“That’s really nice,” said the dryad. “I guess my feet are the only quiet things about me.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. “Oh, no. Not this again.”

Elodie edged towards the unlocked door.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” said the dryad. “There are guards in the hall. They’ve been there all night, and that put them in a cranky mood.”

The dryad sat on the edge of the bed.

“You’re not a soldier?” Elodie asked.

“Me? Not at all. I just carry the basket.” He grinned and lifted the basket to demonstrate. “There’s all kinds of goodies in here.” He tossed the lid aside and pulled out the contents. “We have fresh lake oysters, and honey rolls, and oranges, and some of those little duck pies, and plums, of course. Have whatever you want.”

Elodie sat beside him. “Thank you. Do you have a name?”

“Oh, yes. It’s Nub. Yesterday you met my younger brother, Nettle. He’s a soldier, and sometimes he carries the basket. But that’s all I do.”

“Nettle and Nub. I see.”

Trying to ignore Nub’s watchful grin, Elodie dug into the honey rolls. They were sweet and sticky, and she wished there were fifty more of them.

Nub’s stomach growled again. “Goodness. Is it alright with you if I...?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

Nub licked his lips and peeled an orange.

After she curbed her hunger, Elodie went to sit in the window sill. “Nub, do you know why I’m here?”

“I think I do, but I’m not supposed to say anything besides ‘breakfast!’ and things about food. One of the guards outside is my cousin Thistle. He has very good ears, you see. He’s a soldier, but I just—”

“You just carry the basket. I know.”

“Oh, good.” Nub smiled wide and took a bite of his orange.

Elodie ate some more. The oysters were too squishy for her liking, but the duck pies were tasty, and she washed them down with water from a flask at the bottom of the basket.

“Thank you for the breakfast, Nub,” she said.

By that point his mouth was too full of plums for him to answer, but he nodded politely. Elodie slipped into her shoes, trying not to draw attention to herself. The door stood ajar. Cousin Thistle or no cousin Thistle, this was as good a chance to escape as she was bound to have. Just then the door opened, and another dryad sauntered in.

“Good morning, Petal,” said Nub.

Elodie kicked herself for her taking so long.

Petal eyed Elodie, Nub, and the food basket with an eyebrow arched over her green eyes. She was small and thin, with a cascade of sky-blue hair—or was it grass?—flowing past her waist. Tiny blossoms of the same color dotted her arms and legs, and a shimmering dress woven of what looked like moonbeams wrapped around her small frame.

“Breakfast-time is over,” she said to Nub. “Pick up and leave.”

Nub scurried to do as he was told. On his way out, he paused and smiled at her. “Today you look as pretty as ripe rhubarb.”

“You have orange pulp on your chin.”

Nub crossed his eyes trying to see. “Would you look at that?” He dabbed it off, licked his finger, and left the room with a bubble of laughter.

Petal waited until Nub was gone, shaking her head. Then she turned to Elodie. She scrutinized her from head to toe.

“Why you?”

“Why me what?” Elodie asked. She already liked this dryad far less than she liked Nub.

Petal sighed a dainty sigh. “Come with me,” she said. “We have work to do on you.”

Perplexed, Elodie stepped out of the room, where she found not two guards but four. Left without much choice, she followed Petal down a stone corridor.

“Where are you taking me now?”

Petal barely glanced over her shoulder.

“I don’t like you very much,” said Elodie.

One of the guards choked down a laugh behind her. Petal ignored both of them.

The hall they followed curved steadily inward. They passed doors that opened to rooms just like Elodie’s confinement quarters, though all of them were empty.

Petal didn’t speak, but Elodie caught a few narrow-eyed peeks over her shoulder. They came to a courtyard similar to the one outside the window in Elodie’s room. It was bigger, though, and in a slightly better state of repair. A green fountain bubbled in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by stone benches, each chiseled with floral patterns. Root tendrils spread from the fountain’s cracked base and roped across the flagstone all the way to the shady colonnade circling the courtyard.

Elodie looked up. Spires and crumbling towers loomed around the courtyard on all sides, but open sky spread wide and blue overhead. She wished she had wings.

Soft laughter came from the fountain. Three dryads, all female, danced around the stonework. When they saw Elodie, they ran up to her with bright eyes and brighter smiles.

“Is this her?” said the first, a green dryad with hair like dandelion.

The second ran her finger down Elodie’s arm. “Look how smooth her skin is! Like an eggshell. My name is Fawn. These are my sisters, Fern and Fay.”

“She’s tall,” said Fay, her catlike eyes gleaming behind wisps of fireweed hair.

“Stop that,” said Petal. “She’s a human, not a unicorn.”

The three young dryads backed away.

Petal dismissed the guards. She planted her feet in front of Elodie and gave her one more head-to-toe scowl. “You look plain to me,” she said. “Your hair isn’t colorful at all, your skin is too pale and too soft, and your pupils are too round. Can you even see with those?” She wagged her head. “I don’t know why they brought you.”

“She’s been griping about you ever since General Tum returned,” said Fern. “But don’t worry, she’s just jealous.”

They sat Elodie on one of the stone benches and washed her with water from the fountain and soap that smelled like all the clover buds in the world crushed into one small bar. Elodie was surprised how much dirt and grime they scrubbed off of her skin. Being clean felt marvelous.

Once she was dried off, they tossed her courier uniform aside and slipped a simple white gown over her head. The garment fell past her knees. It was light and comfortable, but it smelled like old wood.

“White is King Prickle’s favorite color,” said Fawn.

“I’m surprised it fits her,” said Fern.

“Don’t be silly,” answered Fay. “Humans are all the same size.”

The dryads combed through her hair and fussed over the gown. They stepped back to scrutinize their work. Fawn nodded her approval.

“Look how lovely she is now,” said Fern.

“Mayor Clarenbald’s maids would die in a fit of envy if they saw me like this, that’s for sure,” said Elodie. “But what’s it all for?”

“You mean you don’t even know what today is?”

“Petal, weren’t you supposed to tell her?”

Petal refused to meet their eyes. “I didn’t feel like it.”

“My, my,” said Fern with a giggle. “You really are jealous. Lighten up, Petal, and tell her!”

“General Tum brought you as a gift for King Prickle,” said Petal reluctantly.

“A gift? I don’t like the sound of that,” said Elodie.

Fern clapped her hands together. “It’s all so exciting. Keep going, Petal.”

“You’re going to be his new bride.”

Elodie sucked in a breath. “Ooh, Martin’s not going to be happy about that.” She pictured his reaction and found it too funny not to laugh. “Sorry. I will be no such thing.”

“Why are you laughing?” asked Petal. “This isn’t a joke. It’s a very important day for the king.”

“Is it?” Elodie tried to wipe the smirk from her face. “I don’t know if I can take this seriously. Tum and the others were so secretive about the whole thing, and I was starting to get curious. But...no, I’ll leave now, thank you very much.”

“You can’t leave,” said Fawn. “King Prickle is already waiting for you.” She pointed to an archway under the colonnade.

“He’s going to have to wait for someone else, then.” Elodie backed away towards the hall from which they had come. “I’ll take no part in your shenanigans. Point as many spears at me as you want, but I won’t stay here any longer.”

She spun on her heel and marched away. Perhaps she could find Nub again. He might show her the way out of the palace, if she asked nicely.

She was halfway across the courtyard when Petal caught her by the wrist. The dryad’s grip was firm. Elodie couldn’t pull free.

“Let go of me,” she said. “That hurts, and it’s not funny anymore.”

“You won’t think it was funny to begin with when you stand before the king,” said Petal.

With the three dryad sisters watching in alarm from the fountain, Petal dragged Elodie back across the courtyard, under the colonnade, through the archway, and down the dim hall.

* * *

As they made their way to the king’s court, they passed by a number of corridors that branched off into the palace, as well as open terraces that flooded the hall with sunlight. Dryad soldiers guarded some of these exits, and they all carried spears identical to the ones wielded by Tum and his friends.

Petal and Elodie stopped before the largest doorway they had yet encountered. A steady murmur rose and fell on the other side, and Elodie’s nerves started to tingle.

Tum stood waiting in front of the door, along with Nettle, Root, and Nim. Nettle gaped at her, and she didn’t blame him. The last time they had seen her, she looked like something pulled from a catfish hole.

Elodie glared at Tum. “I guess you’re the one they send when someone’s day needs ruining.”

The general’s eyes fell. “You’re about to enter King Prickle’s hall. Past these doors, you shouldn’t speak unless you’re asked to do so.”

Nettle’s eyes were as wide as oranges. For a fraction of a moment, he reminded Elodie of Percy Durbity, and the thought sent pangs of regret through her gut. If she didn’t find a way out, she might not ever see Percy again, or Mayor Clarenbald, or even old Hergelo Stump.

The door swung open, and with Tum and Root on one side and Nim and Nettle on the other, she stepped into the throne room.

The court was a circular chamber which, though not as wide as Elodie expected for a palace hall, towered up to a sagging ceiling haphazardly braced with beams. Balcony tiers rose around the perimeter like a theater, supported by green pillars. Streams of red ivy poured over the balcony rails and tumbled down the pillars.

Scores of dryads filled the balconies and stared down at Elodie. There were dryads as dark as ebony and others as light as birch. Some had cascades of colorful hair or were covered in tiny flowers like Petal, while others were as colorless as Root. Their voices died down as she entered.

In the center of the court, surrounded by a moss carpet and hemmed in by two dryad guards, was a throne. A knotted, twisted structure grown straight out of the floor, the throne held in its lap what Elodie could only assume was King Prickle himself. He was dark and almost as gnarled as his seat, and his mane of hair was white as dove feathers. His startlingly red eyes locked onto Elodie.

A short tree stood beside the throne. Its wilted trunk split towards the ceiling like two arms, and its roots bore through the floor with no earth to support it. The tree was dead.

Tum and the other dryads led her to the edge of the moss carpet surrounding the throne.

“Don’t run,” Tum murmured in her ear. “Do everything he tells you to.”

Then the four of them backed away, leaving her alone in front of the throne. Under any other condition, Elodie would have pinched Tum’s pointy ears for talking to her like that.

King Prickle rose from the throne. His legs groaned like branches in the wind as he stood. He hopped down from the throne and approached her as one would approach a wild horse, holding one hand out in front of him and taking slow steps.

“White.” His voice sounded like a sick crow. “It’s white.” He reached out and touched her dress. “I like white.” He circled her, never taking his eyes off her. “Flower, flower. My, how you’ll tower.” He clicked his tongue. “This is nice. Who made this?”

She wasn’t sure if he expected an answer or not, but she couldn’t muster the nerve to give him one even if he did.

The king drew his fingers down the length of her hair. “As soft as a good dream.”

Elodie suppressed a shudder.

“So he followed through, after all. What’s your name?”

“Elodie.” She tried to keep her voice firm.

“Elodie. Hmm. That is a name for a cloud or a bird, a name for places where things fly. But you...you’re my flower, did you know that? You will grow here. Your name will be hazel and larch, primrose and snowdrop. You have need for wings no longer. Flower, flower. My, but you will be beautiful.”

Before she could stop herself, she burst out, “Will you stop talking about me as if I’m some pretty ornament for your garden? Put me in chains all you like, if you’re the sort of king that gets a laugh out of that, but my name is my name, and I’m going to keep it!”

A handful of audible gasps came from the balconies, but the king merely blinked his red eyes and smiled.

“Eggs only fall from the nest if you shake the leaves,” he said merrily. “Do you know what that means?”

She quickly shook her head, not wanting to open her mouth again.

“Splendid, splendid.” He brushed her dress with his knuckles again. “Exquisite white. I like white.” He returned to his throne and slouched in it. “Spin for me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Spin for me. Can you spin? I’ll show you how it’s done.” He raised an open fist, paused, and looked up at it. “What’s this? Empty? Nub!”

The tubby dryad skipped out from a knot of dryads under the first balcony. His grin cracked when he saw Elodie. He hurried to the throne. “Here I am!”

“Where is my most special scepter?” The king demanded, tapping his foot. “It’s not in my hand, which is precisely where it should be.”

Nub got down on his hands and knees to reach under the throne. “Here it is, your majesty.”

He knocked his head on the way back up. With a friendly wave at Elodie, Nub squeezed back into his spot among the dryads.

King Prickle rapped his knuckles on the scepter. It was little more than a petrified branch, but he held it like a mighty sword.

He twirled his hand, and a vine sprang from his throne and snaked around her waist. Elodie squeaked in surprise as it lifted her off the ground. The vine spun her around in a full circle, then set her down. The dryad crowd oohed like spectators at a show.

King Prickle drummed his fingers on his leg. “I’ve made my decision. You’ll do just fine. As fine as a bright idea, in fact. Let’s begin!”

Tum was at her side in an instant. He guided her to the side of the throne opposite the dead tree. “Stand here.”

“What’s he going to do?” she whispered.

For a moment she thought she saw regret in the general’s face.

“We’re sorry for pointing spears at you,” was all he said. “And for being general nuisances.”

“He’s not right in the head.”

“Try to stay still.”

“Why won’t you stop this? You’re a general.”

“I can’t go against my king.”

“You can if he’s a lunatic!”

King Prickle clapped his hands, utterly unaware of her exchange with Tum. “This is my favorite part. Grand music for my new bride, if you please!”

A line of dryads in the back raised horns to their lips and blew three short notes. They were much better at it than Tum had been on the bridge.

Elodie stomped her foot. “Enough!”

“Bless you,” said the king.

“No,” she said. “I’m done. If you think I’m going to stand around and pretend to be some dryad’s bride, you’re—well, you’re preposterous!”

The dryads gasped. “She just called the king preposterous,” they whispered.

King Prickle clutched his face between his hands. “You just called your king preposterous! The outrage! The unthinkability! That’s it. I was probably going to do this anyway, but you’ve made me do it a lot sooner!”

The king pointed his scepter at her. What happened next made Elodie’s stomach lurch.

The ground under her feet trembled. Green shoots sprang from cracks in the stone and locked her feet in place. The shoots stiffened into bark, solidifying around her ankles like drying plaster. She couldn’t feel her feet or toes.

Elodie clenched her fists. “What are you doing?”

King Prickle hopped off his throne and drew near to the dead tree on the other side. He spoke to it and put his arm around its trunk. “Hush, hush, my sweet. Another flower is taking your place. Soon you’ll have no more worries. The crown must always be in bloom, and your petals have all fluttered away, but it’s not your fault, really.”

Elodie stared down at her legs, transfixed, as inch by inch they turned to wood.

“Stop!” A lone voice shouted from the crowd.

The king leaped onto his throne like a raven to a carcass. “What’s this? Who said that?”

“I did.” A dryad stepped forward. It was Nettle, and he was shaking from head to toe. He looked at his comrades and went a little greener in the face. “Th-this isn’t very fair or reasonable, and I won’t let it happen,” he said. “I suppose I’ll be tossed out a window, but that’s alright, I guess.”

The dryads in the balconies stirred uneasily.

“You’re ruining my wedding, little sprout,” said the king. “Are you jealous of me because I have so many flowers?” He rushed back to the dead tree. “I won’t let him take you, either, even though you’re a bit dry.”

Elodie stared in disbelief. “He’s raving mad.” Even as she said that, her knees stiffened into wood.

Nettle ran to the throne and snatched the scepter from the king’s grasp.

“Hey! Give it back!” King Prickle swung his hands around.

Nettle jumped out of reach and beat the scepter against the ground. “I don’t know how to use this,” he cried.

“Take him away, guards! Chop off his feet and light them on fire! Or throw quails at him!”

A trio of soldiers ran at Nettle with weapons readied. The young dryad looked ready to faint.

Tum stepped in front of Nettle, cutting the soldiers off. “Get back,” he ordered.

The king danced with rage. “I haven’t had a wedding in ten years! This isn’t fair.” He turned his crazed eyes on Elodie. “You. My flower. You will submit to me, because I am your king now, and you will turn into a lovely, lovely tree and bear flowers and leaves that can’t be shaken off, and you will grow by my throne for years and years! Do it now!”

Elodie yanked a spear from the nearest guard and whacked him on his royal head.

The king threw his arms up and bellowed.

Dryad guards charged forth to protect the king’s dignity. The balcony whispers had turned into loud opinions, and Nettle yelled something at the king. His voice went unheard in the pandemonium.

King Prickle abandoned his throne. He ran in circles like a beheaded chicken, swinging his arms to strike at whomever happened to be in his path.

Many of the dryads fled the hall, clearly afraid the king might target them next. The soldiers, however, jumped at the chance to finally use their spears. They hemmed in around Elodie, Tum, and Nettle, jabbing at the air with their weapons.

Two new dryads appeared behind the soldiers and knocked them to the ground. Root and Nim wordlessly formed a barrier in front of Elodie, holding their own weapons up and glowering at anyone who drew near.

King Prickle hollered in the background.

Nettle gave up on the scepter. He handed it to Tum. “We’re very sorry,” he said to Elodie. “This was wrong from the beginning.”

“Of course it was,” said Elodie. “I’ve been trying to tell you that since yesterday. But maybe we could save making amends for later, after I’ve not turned into a tree.” She pointed at the slender trunk that used to be her legs.

“Without the scepter, the king can’t do a thing to you,” said Tum. “Nettle, it really wasn’t necessary for you to beat the poor stick.”

“Sorry.”

“I think it’s receding, but I still can’t move,” said Elodie.

“We can fix that,” said Root. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her straight out of the floor.

She yelled, expecting it to hurt, but a few stray roots snapped harmlessly. She was free.

“We’ll have to carry her for now,” said Tum. “Root, Nim, get us to the door.”

The two dryads cleared a path, shoving aside the soldiers that tried to stop them. Tum and Nettle scooped Elodie up and hurried her away from the throne, where the king was too lost in his own wallowing to notice.

Elodie felt the blood in her legs pump back to life. It was a horribly uncomfortable feeling, as if she had slept a whole night with her legs pinned under a rock.

Root bashed the hall doors open. A few corridors later, the last of the bark crumbled like dust and fell from her feet. The dryads set her down, and once she tested her legs, they continued on. They ran into a few stray commoners coming to see what all the commotion was about, but one look at Root and Nim was enough for them to divert and let them pass.

Before long, they reached a narrow passageway with a pool of sunlight at its end. The dryads stopped.

“Follow this path as quick as you can,” said Tum. “It’ll lead you straight to the lake. You can swim, right?”

Elodie nodded. “What about you, though? The king’s furious.”

“Worry about yourself for now. We’ll stay back and make sure King Prickle doesn’t find the scepter for a long time.”

“Thank you,” she said. “All of you. Especially you, Nettle. It was brave of you to stand up for me.”

Tum urged her on. “Go, quickly.”

“And watch out for snapping turtles,” said Nim.

Elodie hurried down the hall and into the daylight. Sure enough, the lake spread out before her. She climbed down the rocks and ran over a stretch of sandy bank. As she lunged into the water and swam out, she fervently hoped nothing worse than snapping turtles lurked under her feet.

7. The Dryad Palace

Martin knew next to nothing about tracking or forest navigation, but one thing was clear. They were lost. When at least an hour passed with no sign of badger trails or even a stream, much less a whole lake, Podgin admitted he wasn’t entirely sure which way they were going.

“I thought you’d been to the lake before,” said Martin.

Podgin lifted a finger. “It’s one thing to find a lake by accident, zigzagging about with your nose bent to the ground and a sack of truffles distracting you. Finding a lake on purpose, in a straight line, when everyone’s in a rush, and when I didn’t want to come in the first place is another.”

“We’re misplaced more than lost,” said Aguilax. “We made good progress in the right direction all morning. It’s simply a matter of perspective. I’ll see if I can spot the dryad palace from the air.”

“Of course,” said Martin. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner.”

“I do,” said Illo.

“I was just waiting for the need to arise,” said Aguilax, stretching his wings. “I can fly, but I’m still a cat. These wings are for hunts and sport, not long explorations. I suggest the rest of you wait here. You’re bound to choose the wrong direction if you wander off.”

Podgin covered his nose with his beard while Aguilax hoisted himself into the air. The lynx headed east.

“Make yourselves comfortable, boys,” said Illo.

There wasn’t much to be comfortable on. Martin sat in a patch of thick grass, listening for Aguilax’s return. Podgin plopped down against an oak and rummaged through the food sack. Illo darted up a tree, where, though out of sight, she could be heard plucking her bowstring.

Martin remembered her warning about trees that trapped people with their roots. He checked the nearest oaks nervously, but they all looked decently innocent. He stretched out his legs. Untying shoes with one hand was easy compared to tying them. Once his feet were bare he rubbed them down, being careful to avoid the blisters. Alleviating his feet only made the rest of his muscles complain louder, so he set aside his shoes and lay back in the grass with his hand tucked under his head.

He stared at the dancing leaves. If Elodie were there, she would have found the most perfect one and climbed as high as she dared to pick it. She had done that a few of the times they walked in the apple orchard just outside Bardun Village, but those trees weren’t half as tall as the forest oaks. A year ago, Martin would have climbed right up after her. Not now. One-handed tree climbing was an obstacle to tackle after he mastered one-handed shoe tying.

Martin closed his eyes and listened to the air breathe through the trees. He never intended to doze off, but he did. The soft breeze switched to rhythmic wings beating the air, and he thought Aguilax had returned. Then his body jerked, and he snapped out of his unexpected nap.

Illo stood over him, nudging his leg with her toe. “What’s up with you?”

Martin licked the roof of his mouth. “It hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“My arm. The old bite. I dozed off, and…” he sucked in a breath, clenching his teeth. The blood pumping down his arm felt like hot water. He looked around. “Where’s Aguilax?”

“Still gone.”

“I thought you woke me.”

“I did,” she said. “It’s Podgin. He’s missing.”

The sack of food was in its place against the oak, but Podgin was nowhere to be seen.

“He probably caught wind of mushrooms and went to look for them.”

“That’s what worries me,” said Illo. “He’s like a squirrel. Once he finds one nut, he follows his nose until he finds twenty, and by that time he’s thoroughly lost. Last year we didn’t hear or see him for a week. Fella and Aguilax found him near the southern marsh with a jar full of honeycomb and more bee stings than beard hairs. No need to give him a head start now.”

“What if Aguilax comes back?”

“Podgin can’t have made it far,” she said. “We’ll be quick.”

Martin got to work on his shoes. Illo watched him struggle with the laces in his teeth. If she was amused by his antics, she didn’t show it.

“You scared me, you know,” she said.

“How?” Martin grunted through his clamped jaw.

“When I came to wake you up. Right before I poked you, you yelled out.”

He tightened and spat out the lace. “Anything specific?”

“No words. You just yelled. I thought you were going to murder me. Bad dream?”

“No,” said Martin with a sigh. “Owls.”

Illo looked confused, but she dropped the matter.

Martin stood. “Any idea which way he went?”

Illo was about to reply when they heard a yelling voice coming their way. Podgin popped into view amid the trees, making a beeline towards them as fast as his short legs would carry him.

“I didn’t know!” He shouted when he saw them. “I didn’t know!”

His arms were folded against his torso, protecting three small objects nestled in his clothes. They were round and smooth and salmon-pink.

Illo grabbed his arm as he passed by. “Eggs?”

“Very observant of you,” said Podgin, his legs still pumping, “but we need to run.”

A new sound cut him off. Dozens upon dozens of angry cries and the drone of a hundred wings zipping in the trees.

Illo grabbed one of the eggs and held it up. “You idiot, these are sting finch eggs. Are you trying to get us killed?”

“I didn’t know whose eggs they were. All I knew is that they looked really tasty!”

“So will we in about ten seconds.”

Martin was glad he had already done his shoes. “Should I ask?”

“Yes,” said Illo. “You should. Sting finches are nasty little birds with beaks like carving knives. They’re territorial, aggressive, and very protective.” She thumped Podgin on the head as she said so. “Grab the food, Martin. We’re getting out of here.”

She put an arrow to the string as Martin and Podgin cleared the ground of their few belongings.

The sting finches burst into view like a speeding cloud, a churning mass of indigo feathers and white talons. The cloud parted around trees and swept low to the ground, closing the gap quickly.

“Run,” said Illo.

“But which way?” Martin asked.

“Doesn’t matter! Just run!”

They took off. Martin held the food bag tight in his hand. Podgin still clutched two of the eggs.

“Shouldn’t you toss those back?” said Martin.

“That’s a thought,” said Podgin. “What a clever way to get away from a flock of killer birds, chuck their children at them!”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Illo came last. She twisted around and shot her arrow without slowing down. A bird squawked and dropped. The rest of the flock jabbered all the more and sped on.

“I thought that might scare them off,” said Illo, catching up to the others.

“I don’t think it did. What about Aguilax?” Martin raised his voice to be heard over the birds.

“He’s not about to be torn to ribbons like we are, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Without any itch or tingling to forewarn him, Martin’s left arm exploded with streams of excruciating pain. He cried out and fell, scraping at his skin with his right hand. He lost all hearing under the pulsing in his ears. His tongue grew thick and his mouth tasted like metal.

Eyes and jaws locked shut, Martin curled in a ball on the ground, unable to get up. The shrill cries of the birds broke through the wall in his head. They were bearing down on him.

A body hit his. Not a bird. Bigger. A voice yelled on top of him, but it sounded like it was underwater. Dirt and leaves scraped his cheek.

After the first burst of pain, his arm still burned, but his senses started to sharpen again.

A yowl joined the din above him. Birds croaked and wings beat. Weight still pressed down on him, covering him and pushing his face and chest against the ground.

Then it got quiet. The birds were gone. The weight lifted off him. Martin rolled over. Illo leaned over him, sweaty and panting. She grabbed his hand and hoisted him up, her nostrils flaring with exertion.

Aguilax was there, too, with blue feathers in his teeth and claws and his fur mussed all over.

“That’s rotten timing, Martin,” said Illo, still breathing hard.

“I can’t—”

“The birds won’t stay away for long. We need to make it to the lake.”

Illo turned her back on him and picked up Podgin, who was scrambling on his back like a turtle, the finch eggs still safe in his arms.

Martin didn’t know what to say. His arm had never hurt like that before, not even when he had been bitten in the first place. It may have been his swimming eyes, but the veins in his wrist looked darker than usual.

He reached for his arm but stopped short. His right hand was sticky and red. Alarmed, he gently touched his face and chest where the ground had dug into him. He was scraped and bruised, but there were no open wounds.

Aguilax spat out the last feather. “That’s not your blood, my friend.”

Martin looked at Illo, who was already on the move. As she jogged away from them, she put a hand to her lacerated shoulders.

“Come on,” said Aguilax softly. “To the lake first. We’ll take things from there.”

* * *

Aguilax set them on the proper course. Had they kept following Podgin’s loops, they would have missed the lake by a mile. The winged lynx stayed on the ground with them to lead the way. Illo ran beside him without a word of complaint. Martin brought up the rear alongside Podgin, who had tucked his treasured eggs into the food sack. They both kept their eyes and ears trained on the forest.

Twice Martin heard the sting finches behind them, but the birds remained out of sight. Eventually, their shrill cries faded.

Martin tried to catch up to Illo, but even though she never turned her head, she must have sensed his intentions. Whenever he sped up, so did she, refusing to acknowledge his attempts to reach her. A chilly brick sat in his stomach, and he gave up. He wouldn’t know what to say even if she gave him a chance.

They found the lake without incident. Only upon their arrival did Martin fully understand why they had had such a hard time finding it. The lake was small and as round as a button, enclosed by oak walls all the way around. The water was like a waxed floor with every leaf and twig reflected flawlessly on its surface.

An island broke the mirror effect in the lake’s deep center. Martin sucked in a breath at the sight of the fortress ruins on the rock. The towers and walls that still stood were devoured by wild plant growth. Even from the air, the island would have looked like a clump of mossy stone at first glance.

That’s it,” said Aguilax. “The dryad palace.”

“They don’t keep it very well,” said Martin. “And there’s no bridge. How are we to cross without being seen?”

“That should do,” said Illo. She pointed across the water to a recess in the rock under a low terrace. “We won’t be seen there. Aguilax, can you give us a lift? I don’t think any of us are in the mood for swimming.”

Aguilax took Illo first. He held her arms instead of her shoulders. It didn’t look like a pleasant ride. They disappeared into the shaded alcove.

Martin watched the palace for any movement, but there were no dryads on the walls that he could see. Aguilax came back and grabbed Martin next. They skimmed low over the water, crossing the lake in less time than it took Martin to worry about the cat’s claws.

“Wait for me here,” said Aguilax. “Ferrying Podgin may take a moment.”

He took off and dipped away from the island.

Illo knelt on the rock. Cupping her hands, she splashed water over her shoulder. She gritted her teeth but made no sound.

Martin sat beside her. “That looks painful.”

“Trust me, I’ve suffered worse.” She finished cleaning away the dirt before looking up at him. “What happened back there? I know you’re clumsy and all, but why didn’t you get up?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t. It was like being paralyzed and on fire at the same time. My arm hasn’t done that before. Itches and aches, sure, but not that. I can’t explain it. It knocked me off my feet, and I couldn’t even tell what was going on.”

Illo covered her shoulder and winced. Then she let out a long breath. “It’s not your fault, anyways. If Podgin used his brain as much as he used his digestive system, we wouldn’t have had any trouble. If you feel like you owe me, hold him down for me when we get a chance. I’ll give him a kick so hard, every truffle he’s ever eaten will pop right back out.”

“Not a sight I care to see, but I’ll take it. Still, saving my skin wasn’t part of Fella’s instructions.”

“She would have done the same thing.”

“I didn’t think you were much like her.”

A rueful grin cracked the corner of her mouth. “Maybe not, but give me credit for trying.”

Aguilax flapped into view and set a dizzy Podgin on the rock.

“I would have been quicker, but he squirms more than a worm in a robin’s beak. I nearly dropped him.”

Podgin sneezed three times in rapid succession. “I resent that. I don’t see why I had to cross at all. I got you to the lake. I don’t even need the spade, just let me go.”

“That’s a fair point,” said Aguilax. “Shall I take you back?”

“No, thank you. My nose needs time to heal. Besides, I don’t fancy drowning. I can’t swim, you see. No, no. I’ll go on with you, as is my unfortunate lot today.”

“Give yourself a chance and you might just learn there’s more to life than closed doors and hot ovens.”

Podgin stuck his beard out. “A hideous lie if ever I heard one.”

Horns trumpeted somewhere in the palace. It was a faint sound, but it snapped Martin back into focus.

“Right. We’ve made it this far. Now what?”

“The palace isn’t that big,” said Illo. “With a healthy dose of luck and care, we can find Elodie and slip out before the dryads know we even exist.”

“But we still have to find a way in. Maybe things are different for dryads, but don’t palaces tend to have guards?”

“Leave that to me,” said Aguilax. “My wings have some strength left in them. I’ll fly around. There’s bound to be a dozen open terraces and holes in a place like this.”

“What if they see you?” Illo asked.

“Better me than any of you,” he said. “After all, I’m just a dumb beast.” He winked and took off again.

Martin, Illo, and Podgin sat on the rocks in the recess. Nobody spoke. Podgin retrieved the finch eggs from his sack and chuckled over them until he caught a glare from Illo and a subtle gesture at her shoulder. He scooted away, hid the eggs, and sucked on his fingers instead.

After a few minutes, Martin climbed over to a stack of boulders near the back of their hiding place. He sat with his back against the cold stone and listened for voices, more horns, or anything to give him a clue of what was happening inside the palace. He thought he caught a few faint and muted shouts, but then Illo started flipping pebbles into the lake and he lost them.

Martin removed his leather sleeve. Most of his arm was scraped up from when he had hit the ground, but he was more concerned about his forearm veins. They were still darker than he thought they should be, and the difference was stark when he compared his two arms. He rubbed them down with his thumb, but that didn’t do any good.

The stone plunking stopped. Illo was watching him.

Martin put the sleeve back on. As long as another bout of pain didn’t render him useless or endanger the others, a little discoloration could wait to be examined when he and Elodie got back to Bardun Village.

Aguilax returned just as Martin’s muscles were stiffening all over again. The lynx had good news.

“It’s just as I thought,” he said. “Most of the terraces lead to closed doors or crumbled walls, but I found one on the south face of the palace for us to sneak in through. I also flew around the whole structure a couple times to check for dryad soldiers, but everyone is indoors. I heard voices gathered in one of the halls deeper in. Something may be afoot.”

“Let’s not sit around any longer, then,” said Illo. “Some of us have new pits to dig.”

After a decent amount of groaning and sneezing from Podgin, Aguilax hoisted them up to the designated terrace. This time, Illo flew with her bow and an arrow in hand. When they were all safely on the terrace, Aguilax stood off to the side with his ears flat against his head, panting.

“Last time for a while, I promise,” said Illo.

She scratched him affectionately between the ears, and that seemed to perk him up a bit.

“Yes,” said Podgin. “We’ll run in, fetch the girl, run back out, and dive gracefully into the lake like the heroic little swans we are.”

“The only thing you have in common with a swan is your honking beak, which you should keep shut until we’ve done what we came to do,” said Illo.

An archway led from the terrace to a dark hall. Half of the haunch had cracked and fallen, but they picked their way over the stones and went inside. Stepping into the dryad palace was like entering a cave. It only took a few feet for the light to dim and the air to get thick and cold. Vines encased the hall’s insides like thick, green spider webs. Everything was quiet except for the tap of their feet on the stonework floor.

The hall didn’t stay straight for very long. Once the light from the terrace was at their backs, it sloped downhill in steep curves. Doorways lined the hall at regular intervals, most of them shut and bolted.

“Do you think she’s in any of these?” Martin whispered. “We might walk right past her and never know it.”

“I doubt she’s here,” said Illo. “It doesn’t look like the dryads use these levels for anything. I think it’s safe to assume that if we find the dryads, we’ll find Elodie too.”

The hall took them to an abandoned room with a tall, arched ceiling and a thick table surrounded by fallen chairs. Dust and dry leaves coated the table, and one of the walls cracked all the way up the middle.

“Well, no one’s been in this place for a couple decades,” said Illo.

Two doorways waited for them on the other side of the room. Each of them opened to stairway landings. Both stairways went down, and both curved sharply, one to the right and one to the left.

“Which way, hog-moggins?” Illo swept her arm out. “I’m as lost in a building as you are. It all looks the same to me.”

Martin poked his head through each of the doorways. “To the right,” he said.

“Quick call. Is that the way your aching heart is tugging you? I’ll puke if you say yes.”

“Nope.” He grinned. “Just split odds.”

“That works too.”

Martin went first, treading lightly down the staircase on the right. There were no windows, and therefore no light by which to see his own feet. Soon he had to keep his hand on the wall and shuffle forward to avoid somersaulting the rest of the way down.

He was beginning to worry he had chosen the wrong staircase, or that neither staircase led anywhere at all, when orange light flickered around the bend. There was a torch mounted in the wall, and it was the first torch of a long line.

“Split odds indeed,” said Aguilax. “Do the rest of you hear what I hear?”

They didn’t, but a few dozen steps later, they did. A rumble of feet and the cacophony of shouting voices all jumbled into one frenzy.

Martin stopped, surprised. He had heard a similar sound only once before, three years ago, when Edgar the pig had taken particular offense to bath time and charged right through the Cabbage Cart’s common room during the evening hours, when the tables were at their fullest.

“Like I said, mad as loons,” said Podgin.

They resumed their descent. The shouting grew louder with each turn of the staircase until the steps leveled out into a narrow hall. There was another archway up ahead, where dozens of short shadows ran by.

“We won’t have to worry about sneaking,” said Illo.

At the end of the corridor, they pressed up against the walls and peered out. A wider hall intersected with theirs, well lit by evenly spaced windows across the way. Dryads ran by them like floodwaters, short, twiggy people with wild hair and pointy ears. Martin had never seen anything so unexpected in his life.

“None of them are soldiers,” Aguilax pointed out. “No spears, no ranks. These are ordinary dryad folk.”

“They’re scared of something,” said Martin. “We won’t make it far without getting trampled.”

“No, but maybe…” Illo held up a hand. “Wait. Here comes a fat one. I think I can grab him. Get ready to hold him down and keep him quiet if he squeals.”

Quick as a cat, she jumped out, grabbed her target by the arms, and pulled him into the darker corridor. The dryad was only as tall as Martin’s stomach. He was a portly thing as well, with thick hair the color of walnuts. He needed neither holding nor quieting, as he merely sat down to catch his breath.

Martin and the others made sure no one else had followed them. Then they gathered around the newcomer. The dryad held his belly and forced in a few deep breaths. Then he opened his eyes and jumped a little, as though only now realizing he had been yanked away from his fellows.

“Oh,” he said. “Who are you?”

Illo stepped forward with her bow raised. “We need to ask you some questions.”

The dryad grinned. “There’s no need for pointy things with me. I’m not fast. I’m not a soldier or an anybody. I just carry the basket, and I think I’m all out of running for at least another week.” He watched the rest of the dryads stream by through Illo’s legs. “Look, there they go.”

Illo let her bow drop to her side, though whether she did so out of compliance or confusion remained unclear.

“My name is Nub,” said the dryad. “What are yours? And why does he only have one hand?” Nub nodded at Martin.

Illo ignored his questions. “Why is everyone running down the hall like ninny-hens?”

“Well,” said the dryad slowly, “we’re all running because King Prickle is in a bit of a rage at the moment, and nobody likes to stay around when he gets mad. And we’re running down this hall in particular because it’s the fastest way to get away from the king.”

“Is he dangerous when he’s mad?” Martin asked.

“That depends on how you feel about getting turned into a tree.”

“We don’t have time for any of that,” said Illo. “We’re here to find a human girl. Martin?”

Martin nodded eagerly. “What she said. She’s a little shorter than me, and she’s wearing blue.”

Nub’s eyes popped open. “Oh,” he said. Then his shoulders fell. “No, that can’t be right. We had a human girl, but she was wearing white the last time we saw her, so she must not be the one you’re looking for.”

“Of course it’s her,” said Martin, trying to keep his voice calm. “Never mind what color her clothes were. That’s not important.”

“But it is,” said Nub. “It’s very important. You see, white is the king’s favorite color, except on days when the moon is half-full, so a very pretty dryad named Petal dressed her in white before taking her off to marry the king, and now—”

“What?” Martin bellowed. He seized the poor dryad around the neck and lifted him with one arm.

“I’m afraid of heights,” Nub wheezed. “And I just carry the basket. Please put me down.”

“For goodness’ sake, Martin, drop him,” said Illo.

Martin put Nub down, but blood thumped through his veins and kept him on the balls of his feet. “Where is she?”

“She didn’t take very kindly to the king,” said Nub once he was back on his rear. “But the king liked her quite fondly at first, seeing as she was the first bride he’d gotten since—”

“Elodie isn’t anyone’s bride,” Martin fumed. “She doesn’t belong to anyone, and she hates wearing white. I’ve heard enough. Please, tell me where I can find her.”

“I wish I could,” Nub groaned. “I thought she was friendly and nice. I would tell you if I knew. But she got away. She whacked the king and fled the court, and that’s why the king is in a tizzy.”

Martin’s muscles eased a little. If Elodie had gotten away from the dryads, he could still reach her before any harm came to her. “How do we find the king?”

Nub’s eyes went wide. “Why would you ever want to find him? Everyone else is trying to get away. But I suppose...oh, well. It’s not hard to get to the king’s court from here. Just pick out the loudest, angriest voice and follow it. You shouldn’t have any trouble. Half the king’s guards are looking for the girl, and the other half are too busy running for their lives to give you a second glance. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should really be on my way. I hope you have a good day.”

Nub pattered into the main hall and was lost in a wave of fleeing dryads.

“Well then,” said Aguilax. “That was simple enough.”

“Here goes nothing,” said Illo.

They shoved their way into the dryad mass, where they had to wade against a battering current of bodies. Aguilax flew overhead, but Podgin was not so fortunate. He was taller than most of the dryads, but not by much, and he clung to the wall to avoid getting swept away.

Martin led them on, plowing his way through the dryads. A couple of them glanced up in surprise, but they veered away at the sight of him. After a few taxing minutes of pushing and shoving, the dryads thinned out, and they were able to duck into another corridor until the last dryads passed by. Once the crowd was gone and the din faded, the palace went silent.

There were no loud or angry voices to follow, but in another minute they reached the end of the main hall and came to a grand archway with wooden doors pushed open, and they knew they had found the king’s throne room. Martin stopped outside, listening. He heard nothing except echoing footsteps in the distance.

Martin, with the others close behind, stepped through the doors. Sure enough, a round room opened before them, with a ceiling as high as a tower. It looked nothing like any throne room he might have imagined. Martin took it all in quickly—the throne itself, the dead tree beside the throne, the plant-shrouded balconies, and the single dryad lying motionless on the moss. There was no one else in the hall.

The dryad groaned and rolled over. His hair was straight and green like grass, and there was a broken spear beside him. When he spotted Martin, he hacked up a cough that could have been a humorless laugh.

“Where is she?” Martin demanded. “The girl that escaped? Tell me where she is.”

The dryad stumbled, and then stood straight. “Are you the friend Elodie spoke about? The one who came into the woods with her?”

“Of course I am. Your people kidnapped her, and I’m here to take her back.”

“You’re too late for that, I’m afraid. She’s long gone. Safe, for now, but definitely not here.”

“And who are you?”

The dryad coughed again and picked up his broken spear. “Up until today they called me General Tum.”

* * *

Martin clung to every detail Tum the dryad gave them about what had befallen Elodie since she first woke in the hands of the dryad soldiers. The former dryad general needed no arrows or threats to get him to talk. He relayed his story quickly and broadly, but it was enough for Martin to find both relief in the fact that Elodie had made it out safely and frustration that he had missed her by such a slim margin.

“Can you tell me where to find her?” Martin asked when Tum had finished.

“I wish I could,” said the dryad. “She crossed the lake from the north side of the island. The king sent a handful of soldiers after her, but they lost her trail in the woods and came back empty handed.”

“So they know which way she started, at least. Where are they?”

“Hiding from the king.”

“Where’s the king?”

“He’s not—”

“Take me to him.”

Tum gave in and tossed away his broken spear. He ushered Martin and the others out of the king’s court and through the winding halls of the dryad palace. Martin didn’t bother trying to keep track of all the twists and turns. They stopped at a small, unmarked door at the end of a short corridor. A few curious heads poked around corners behind them, but Martin ignored everything except the task at hand.

“King Prickle hides here when he doesn’t want anyone to see or hear him,” said Tum. “Which, now that I think of it, isn’t very often.”

On the other side of the door, a wavering voice ranted in jumbled sentences and broke off into fits of sobbing.

“Loonies,” muttered Podgin.

Tum opened the door, and they stepped into the room. It was a pantry with shelves and baskets and pegs laden with all manner of fresh fruit and dried fruit, hanging herbs, breads, and jars of oil and grain. A few of the jars had been smashed against the floor, their contents spilled all over the stone.

In the middle of the biggest oil puddle sat a dark dryad with red eyes and a shock of white hair. He twirled the fingers of his right hand in the oil, while with his left he snuggled a loaf of bread. Tears darkened the woody skin under his eyes.

“What do you want with me?” said the king with a sniffle. “These are my private chambers. You’re not allowed in without gifts.”

“Private chambers, eh?” Podgin struggled to contain a chortle.

“And you,” said the king, pointing at Tum, “I know you. You’re the one that got full of wrath and hit me and broke my spear!”

“From what we saw,” said Aguilax, “it was precisely the other way around.”

“Silence! No animals are allowed to speak in the royal bedroom.”

Podgin snorted. “He must mean breadroom.”

The king hurled his loaf at the little man with surprisingly good aim. Podgin dropped it into his food sack with glee.

“Be quiet for a minute, Podgin,” said Martin. He stepped forward, careful to keep his feet out of the oil puddle. “Listen here. The girl you kidnapped is my friend, and you’d better be glad she got away. I know you sent soldiers after her. Tell me which way she went.”

King Prickle sighed. “Why must everyone be so jealous of me? She was my flower. She wore white. White is my favorite color, you know. But everyone wants what they can’t have, and so we’re all green by lunchtime. Isn’t that how it goes?” He grabbed a melon from a nearby basket to replace the bread loaf. “But I don’t care how jealous you are. She would choose me over you. I have two hands, and you only have one. What good is one hand? That’s like having a nice hat but no head to put it on.”

“It’s not like that at all.”

“I’m tired of all the nonsense you’ve been sprinkling around my room. Tell me what you want and I might still let you go.”

Martin shook his head in bewilderment. “I just told you. I want to know which way she went from here. I also want to ram your head down one of these oil jars, but I’m restraining myself for now.”

The king glowered at him, his red eyes shining. “The queen by my throne used to be full of colorful flowers, especially white ones. But then along came a mischievous little sprout who shook her leaves and spoiled her flowers, and now she’s as dry as a bone in the sun and she’ll never bloom again. As was my just and natural right, I was going to tie the sprout to a rock and throw him in the lake to be eaten by water snakes, but he squealed and begged and promised to fetch me a new bride, so I let him go. He found that human girl, not me. I’m innocent.”

“What was the sprout’s name?”

“I don’t remember. He was adopted.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“How should I know? You asked.”

Martin reached for an oil jar.

“Alright, alright!” The king crawled away. “Keep that thing away from me. I’ve had oil in my ear tunnels before. Do you know what it’s like to have your own head sound slippery from the inside? She evaded my soldiers not far from the Minnowchuck. So they say. They could be making two thirds of it up.”

Martin turned to Illo with raised eyebrows.

She nodded. “It’s a river. Not as wide or fast as the Turtlegabble, but if you listen closely, it sounds like hundreds of little fish with poor digestion.”

“It’s not much to go on.”

“Maybe not, but it’s as much information as we’re likely to pry from this pile of driftwood.”

“I heard that,” said the king.

Martin had hoped for more, but Illo was right. “Let’s go.”

King Prickle made no move to stop them as they left the pantry.

“What’s next for him?” asked Martin.

Tum looked grim. “He’ll stay in there until he grows lonely or until he runs out of food. It’s a tossup as to which happens first. Then he’ll come out on his own, and we’ll have several days of relative peace before he finds something else to obsess over.”

“You won’t get rid of him?”

“He’s still our king. Most of the time he means well. Every few years some plucky young militant suggests overthrowing him, but who’s to say anyone we put in his place won’t be just as bad? The king wasn’t so mad before he took the throne, after all.”

“Like I said,” started Podgin.

Illo cut him off. “Yes, we know already.”

“There’s not much else to be done here,” said Martin. “Tum, can you show us out? Maybe I can still catch up to her.”

The dryad led them back through the throne room and out to the open air on the rock island. Three more dryads joined them there, and after conferring with them in hushed voices, Tum introduced them as Root, Nim, and Nettle.

When the three dryads saw Aguilax, their eyes lit up with surprise. The cat gave them a knowing nod and a lick of his lips.

“Nettle was the one who first stood up for your friend,” said Tum.

The young dryad shuffled his feet.

“And we want to come with you. Now that the king is appeased for the time being, there’s no reason for us not to make up for some of the harm we’ve done.”

Martin shook his head. “No, no. I don’t need or want more help than what I’ve got already.”

“Makes you feel special, doesn’t it?” said Illo, rolling her eyes.

“We have weapons,” insisted Tum. “They come in handy around here.”

Martin still wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

“At least take this,” said Nettle. He handed Martin his spear. “You can use it to fight off nasty creatures if you have to.”

Aguilax bristled. “Does that make me a nasty creature?”

The dryad wilted. Tum and his men wished them luck and left them alone at the water’s edge.

Martin eyed the trees on the other side of the lake. “Aguilax, I don’t suppose...”

The lynx unfurled his wings. “Sometimes I wish I had stayed with Fella. She pets me and doesn’t ask me to fly her around. Nevertheless, I know where I’m needed most. Up we go!”

“I’ll eat a blue toadstool before I let you pick me up again,” said Podgin.

“Fine by me. Feel free to start swimming.”

Podgin rubbed his hands together and shot a dirty look at the lake. “Grouse guts.”

“Brilliant.” Aguilax carried Podgin into the air and had him on the opposite shore before the little man could sneeze twice.

* * *

Elodie sat as still as a stone in the branches of an oak. Three dryad soldiers had passed right under her hiding spot a few minutes ago, and she wanted to make sure they wouldn’t return before climbing down. Rough bark scraped against her legs and arms. She hadn’t had time to get comfortable before freezing in place while the soldiers ran this way and that. The dryad king had sent them after her. Of that she was sure.

At last, just before her legs went completely numb, she decided it was safe to drop to the ground. The white gown she wore made her landing cumbersome. Her swim across the lake, along with the breathless round of hide-and-go-seek with the dryad soldiers, had torn and muddied the fabric beyond repair. She missed her courier uniform, but she was thankful the dryads hadn’t taken her shoes. She needed those.

Elodie moved lightly on her feet for another five minutes just to put more distance between herself and the dryad palace. Then, after making sure no more soldiers were on her trail, she spared the time to pick clinging weeds from her dress and clumps of mud from her socks. She found a spot of sunlight in which to rest and, if nothing interrupted her, dry out.

Tum and the others had helped her escape the palace, but they hadn’t offered directions or clues where to go once she made it across the lake. Ever since waking up tied to a tree just over a day ago, someone had been right there with her, telling her where to go and how quickly to get there. Now she was alone, and it was a heavy sort of aloneness. She didn’t know if she should look for Martin or the village first. Both felt far away, impossible to find without blind luck.

After some deliberation, she realized her choices were limited. If she stayed where she was, hoping a search party found her before the dryads did, she might end up waiting days on her own. On the other hand, if she kept moving, there was always the possibility of running into help, however slim. Besides, she wasn’t willing to take any chances with the dryads. She had to keep moving.

Elodie gave herself some more time to regain her strength. Reasonably dry, she staggered to her feet, put the lake and the palace at her back, and started walking. Every so often she double-checked for lingering bark around her ankles and shins, but her legs were as whole and human as ever. She hoped they stayed that way.

Presently she heard running water, and with no good reason not to, she altered her course and came to a shallow stream. She followed it, if only to gain a sense of consistent direction.

The stream became a creek, and the creek led her to a deep river as clean as the mayor’s drinking water. Elodie’s hope rekindled.

Could this be the same river she and Martin fell into by the edge of the woods? If it was, her luck had certainly changed for the better, for she wasn’t as far from Bardun Village as she had thought.

Either way, a short rest was in order. She found a flat rock to sit on. After taking her shoes off, she splashed water on her face and let her feet cool in the shallows under her rock.

Not far downstream, Elodie spotted a strip of boulders spanning the current, and she picked her way to them. She climbed up the first boulder and spread out her arms for balance. It wasn’t hard to hop across the rest of the way.

On the last rock, however, a pair of shining blue orbs nestled in the leaves of a bush caught her attention. The distraction nearly spilled her into the river, but she managed to keep her footing. The pale circles blinked. Were they eyes? Yes, something was definitely watching her from the bank.

Elodie jumped to solid ground. She had never seen eyes so round or so bright.

“Oh dear.” The voice was small and squeaky.

She took a step closer. “Hello?”

“Oh dear,” said the voice again. “Mustn’t shake the leaves, mustn’t make a peep.”

And with that the eyes vanished, the bush shook once, and the creature hidden within was gone. Elodie waited and listened, but the voice didn’t return. Puzzled, she continued on away from the river and decided not to think much of it. There were bound to be many oddities in the woods, and if she stopped to wonder at each one, she would walk herself in circles.

When her legs tired again, Elodie noticed it was getting darker. It wasn’t the darkness of night, for it was far too early for the sun to be setting. The colors were all wrong, too. It was a gray, thick darkness, as if a dense smoke had blotted out the sun. But that wasn’t quite it either. The darkness came from the forest itself, not from the sky.

She didn’t feel any imminent danger, and as long as she could see the ground in front of her, she didn’t see any reason why she shouldn’t keep going. She looked over her shoulder.

Behind her, sunlight streamed down through the leaves and speckled the forest floor. Ahead of her, the shadows swallowed any light from above. Elodie fixed Martin’s face in her mind and imagined his voice. It beckoned to her from the darkness. She followed it.

8. Poisoned Veins

Once across the lake, Martin didn’t talk much. Neither did the others. Podgin went through a few bouts of sneezing, each followed by a string of complaints, but any attempts at actual conversation fell short. They were tired. Aguilax kept his head low and his wings folded. Illo wouldn’t complain about her own discomfort, but Martin knew her shoulder hurt more than she let on. All things considered, Martin didn’t mind the silence. It gave him time to clear his head and grasp at a fresh perspective.

Nearly a full day had passed since Martin and Elodie got swept into the forest world. Percy had surely noticed Martin’s absence in the Cabbage Cart by now, but the dishes would be stacked halfway to the ceiling before Hergelo Stump realized he was missing a worker. Martin imagined a knot of Mayor Clarenbald’s clucking maids huddled outside Elodie’s tiny room in the attic, trying to outdo each other with whispered theories about Elodie’s disappearance, none of which would be remotely close to the truth.

It would take a few days for any sort of alarm to be raised and even more time for Martin’s mother in Aldenturf to get word of trouble. Even though Martin had already failed twice, he hoped to get Elodie back safely before creating too much of a stir.

When they were a safe distance from the dryad palace, Martin called out Elodie’s name every few minutes. He hoped they had been quick enough to catch up with her, but he heard no response, and that window of opportunity swung shut in his face.

Illo and Aguilax found the river by midmorning, a strip of boulder-strewn water cutting through the woods from east to west.

“This is the Minnowchuck,” said Illo. “It’s as far as we have clues. Past this point we’re out of luck.”

“As if we had any to begin with,” said Podgin.

“We know she didn’t go back,” offered Martin. “So she either crossed and kept going or decided to follow upstream or downstream.”

“That’s not much help,” said Illo. “I’m afraid this is slipping out of our hands pretty quickly. I don’t mean to make you panic, but crossing the Minnowchuck isn’t a smart idea. Compared to the tangled mess over there, this side is pretty tame. None of us have ever been across, but they say it gets ugly. We won’t do anyone any favors plowing in unprepared.”

Martin’s grip tightened on the dryad spear. “It doesn’t look any different from here. Elodie can’t be that far ahead. We were so close at the palace. If we split up, we may bump into her.”

“Are you even listening to me? That’s not how the forest works,” said Illo. “You should know that by now. When you’re alone, you don’t control the woods. The woods control you.”

He stared at the river. “I think she crossed. No, I know she did. She doesn’t know we’re catching up to her, and the river is one more obstacle to put between her and the dryads.”

“That makes an unfortunate amount of sense,” said Aguilax.

Podgin rubbed his hands together. “I’d rather have my head stuffed in a pillow full of hen feathers than set foot on the other side. I’ve seen the sketches in Forest Flora and Fauna.”

“No one’s making you stay,” said Martin.

Podgin eyed the river warily. “This game of fox-and-grouse is dragging out, is all I’m saying. And my feet are cramping up.”

“We’ll find her.”

“Will we?” Illo crossed her arms. “Face the facts, Martin. We have no more leads, and we’re in no shape to blindly traipse around. Look at us. We’re exhausted. We’re running out of food. And I shouldn’t have to remind you, but some of us are hurt. We didn’t know what we were getting into when we set out. It’s time to go home.”

“And give up?”

“I didn’t say that.” She winced and grabbed her shoulder. Her voice softened. “Fella can patch me up. We’ll have a hot meal, rest, and new resources. We’ll figure out the best way to start over. Elodie’s probably in better shape than we are.”

“After everything we’ve gone through, I find that hard to believe,” said Martin. “I’m going across even if no one comes with me.”

Aguilax and Podgin stood back, watching.

Illo jabbed a finger at him. “You’re as stubborn as a log.”

“At least I care enough to try. You know what? Just go. You don’t owe me anything anymore. I don’t need you. I can—”

It happened again. No warning. No build-up. Just a deep stab of pain ramming down his arm. It struck him like a hammer, and he hit the ground before he even realized he was falling. His mouth split open. He saw their wide-eyed faces above him for a moment, and then his vision darkened. A bitter taste surged from his stomach to his mouth.

The attack passed. In a fetal position on the ground, he sucked in gulps of air. The pain throbbed, dimmed, and trickled away. His knees buckled when he stood.

Illo held him up. “We’re going back.”

* * *

The return journey to the cottage was miserable and slow. Illo stayed upset the whole way, and Martin didn’t have the strength to talk to her. He would have been angry as well, but even though the pain in his arm was gone, he broke out into a feverish sweat soon after leaving the Minnowchuck behind.

From that point on he felt worse and worse. His eyes watered constantly, his shirt stuck to his skin, and more than once he nearly pitched forward on top of Podgin.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. Memories of the long nights in the apothecary came to mind, memories he had kept packed away until now.

He missed Elodie. He wanted her beside him.

Fortunately, their expedition from Podgin’s earth bank to the dryad palace and then to the river had taken them in a broad loop. Instead of backtracking, they cut across in a straight line.

It only took them a few hours to reach the cottage, but they were the longest hours of Martin’s life. By the time the thatch roof and chimney appeared through the trees, his legs hardly held him up.

Fella met them at the door. She ushered them inside and had him sit at the table so she could take a look at his arm. She held his stub with a gentleness he didn’t think Illo would ever be able to muster.

Fella and Illo talked quietly together, and then Fella sent him to a spare room to rest on a wide bed under the open window. Martin stayed there through a meal he couldn’t eat, a wordless visit from a bandaged Illo with fresh water, and a one-sided conversation about feathers with Podgin. Fella brought him warm tea of her own concoction. Martin drank it without questions.

His hand felt clammy and slick, so he pulled off the brass ring. Staring at it only made him worry more about Elodie. He set in the stool by the bed. At one point he slept. It was the kind of sleep in which his body shut down but his mind kept worrying. When he woke, he was even glummer than before, but he no longer felt feverish and his stomach had stopped churning.

He lifted himself from the cot and found the rest of the cottage empty. Illo’s bow wasn’t in its spot by the door, there was no sign of Fella or Aguilax, and the only evidence Podgin had even been there was a lingering smell of mushrooms. There was, however, a scrap of brown paper on the table. He snatched it up and read it.

Out searching. Keep resting.

And don’t even think about following!

Each line had different penmanship. The first was curved and elegant, while the second had been hastily scribbled and punctuated aggressively. It wasn’t hard to figure out who had written what, and he grinned despite himself.

Hunger drove him to the cupboards. He helped himself to bread and sweet butter and drank enough water from the brook to fill the soup pots in the Cabbage Cart. When he was done, he watched a square of light cross the floor inch by inch as the sun passed by the window. Then he waited while the room turned from bright yellow to flaming orange to dusky purple. The sun winked out. He was almost too tired to be anxious. He told himself Illo and the others would return any minute, and that Elodie would be with them.

Martin must have dozed off again at the table, for he dreamed of Elodie. It wasn’t specific enough for him to remember much about it when he woke. All he knew was she had been in it somehow, and waking from it left him with a hollow feeling inside.

He sat with his arms folded on the table and his head resting in the crook of his elbow. The house was dark, though, so he poked around for candles without success.

Then he heard voices outside.

“Will you stop whimpering already?” Illo’s tone was unmistakable. “Quit being a pastry-headed pansy.”

“Excuse me,” retorted Podgin, “I’m in too much pain to pay you any attention right now.”

“I can’t believe you let him go.”

“He bit me.”

“He barely has teeth!”

“I have sensitive hands.”

“The scamp could’ve told us everything. He looks about as clever as a hardboiled rock, but he sees a lot and schemes even more. Trust me.”

“Never mind the fact that he probably gave me a life-ending disease.”

“We should be so lucky,” snapped Illo. “Let me look at that. See? You’re not even bleeding.”

Podgin sniffled. Their footsteps came up to the door. Martin gave a sigh that didn’t come close to expressing his disappointment.

Illo stomped in first. Her quiver bore fewer arrows than Martin had last seen in it, and there was a nasty streak of something on her face. He hoped it was mud. Podgin wallowed in behind her, sucking on his hand like his life depended on it.

Illo struck a flame and lit a candle on a shelf—the first place Martin should have looked. Only then did she notice him seated at the table.

“Oh. You’re awake.”

“And alive,” added Podgin. “That’s a healthy combination.”

“I found your note,” said Martin.

Illo fidgeted with her bow. The string was still drawn. “Right. About that.”

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t find her.”

“We covered as much ground as we could. Lord Lardfingers here backtracked towards the dryad palace, just in case. Nothing. Aguilax and Fella are still out there, but I’ll pickle my own ears if they find anything at night.”

“Illo, please,” said Podgin. “That’s disgusting. Can’t you see we have visitors?”

She ignored him. “Podgin and I happened to meet up under the almond tree, and guess who we found sneaking around? Your little floppy-eared friend, that’s who.”

“Bramble?”

“Call him what you will. He’s a sneak, and he was listening to us from the almond tree. Podgin grabbed him, and we asked him to tell us why he was eavesdropping and being a general nuisance. All he would say is ‘oh dear, oh dear’ and something about peeps and leaves. He got away, and now we won’t get any answers from him.”

“I would like to reiterate the fact that he bit me,” said Podgin.

“Stop complaining. I’ve thrown you out the window before, and I’ll do it again in a heartbeat.”

Podgin shut his mouth and rubbed his beard.

“What’s Bramble got to do with any of this?” asked Martin. “He may not be very bright, but he’s done no harm.”

“Yes, well, we thought the dryad king wasn’t very bright either, and look what happened.”

At that moment there was a rush of wings outside. Aguilax hopped through the open window.

“Anything?” asked Illo.

“I went all the way to Willow Pond,” said the cat. “No sign of Elodie in that direction.”

“It was worth checking,” muttered Illo.

“Where’s Fella?”

“Not back yet.”

Martin left them to their updates and went outside. The cool air felt good on his skin. The trees were little more than blue blotches in the dark. He sat by the brook, staring into the shadows. He tried to empty his mind long enough to think of a new plan, but he was so full of whirling thoughts it was like trying to bail a sinking boat with a kitchen ladle.

“She’ll be all right, you know.” Illo let the door shut softly and joined him.

“What makes you so sure?” Martin unfastened the leather sleeve and rubbed dirt and sweat from his forearm.

“She bested the dryad king and inspired you to tear up a forest for her. She must be pretty special.”

Martin’s face flushed. “She is. I, on the other hand, am a clumsy, stubborn hog-moggins.”

“Yes, you are.” She elbowed him in the side. “But you’re a decent one. Elodie’s lucky to have you looking out for her.”

“I’m doing a terrible job at it.”

Illo fidgeted beside him. “Look...I owe you an apology. Probably several. You were right about me. I didn’t want to help you find Elodie, not at first. I didn’t think it was my problem.”

“It wasn’t,” said Martin.

“There’s not much in the woods that scares me anymore,” she went on. “Bog boars, sting finches, dryads...those are all things I’m familiar with. They’re dangerous, but I can assert myself over them. But your arm? That scares me, because I don’t know what it is or how to stop it.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Right. But that’s what changed my mind about you, watching you get back up and keep going. So I’m sorry for being selfish. And I want you to know I’ll stick with you until we find Elodie.”

“Thank you,” said Martin. “I appreciate that.”

She let out a breath. “I hope so, because it was hard as nails for me to say all that.”

Martin shook his head with a smile, even though she couldn’t see it. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Fella cleaned it out. I almost screamed. But it’s better now. I hope it scars. Battle wounds aren’t worth the trouble if you can’t show off the scars afterward.”

“I’m not sure those count as battle wounds.”

She punched his arm. “Don’t rob me of my glory, Martin, or next time I might not save your skin.”

They sat together quietly for some time. Martin hoped Fella would come back soon, though he knew not to get his hopes up until morning.

Martin sniffed. There was a warm, stale stench in the breeze.

Illo crinkled her nose and turned away. “I’ve had enough. If Podgin’s going to stick around, he simply must have a bath.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” said Martin.

She smelled again. “You’re right. That’s an animal of some kind. If it gets any closer I’ll put it out of its filthy misery.”

The smell passed with no wild animal appearances.

“Will Fella be safe out there?” Martin asked.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” said Illo. “When it comes down to it, Fella’s braver, stronger, and especially wiser than I am, and I don’t mind admitting it.”

“But...she looks so ordinary.”

“Shows how much you know her, doesn’t it? I’ll let you in on a secret. Fella and I aren’t actually biological sisters. As a matter of fact, she raised me. She taught me how to read and write, and how to climb trees shoot an arrow straight enough to split a dewdrop.”

“Don’t you have parents?”

Illo hesitated. “I don’t remember them very much. We lived here in the cottage, us and Aguilax. I’ve never known any other home. One day I was playing in the woods, and a sage viper bit me. My parents couldn’t do anything, so they ran for help. They never came back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Like I said, I don’t remember much. Not enough to miss them, really. Aguilax was just a kitten when they left. He took care of me as much as he could, but I got worse. I would’ve died if it weren’t for Fella. Just like my parents went into the woods, she came out of them, and she stayed. I guess you could say she adopted me as her little sister.”

“What about Podgin?”

Illo chuckled. “He wandered through our neck of the woods not long after Fella showed up, and decided to stick around. He likes company more than he’ll ever admit. Besides, enough truffle patches pop up around here to keep him busy.”

“It’s odd, picturing all that,” said Martin. “I never thought people lived in the woods, much less dryads and whatnot.”

“Apparently there’s a lot you town people don’t know.”

Martin thought of Hergelo Stump and Percy Durbity and the others, as ignorant about the forest as he used to be. “One last question.”

“Knock yourself out,” said Illo. “You’re on a roll.”

“Why does Bramble keep calling you the servant of Nayadu?”

Illo snorted. “Does he? I wouldn’t know if my life depended on it. Honestly, Bramble’s a few gears short of a clock, if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes stuff up to entertain himself and ends up believing it.”

Stifling a yawn, she stood. “I don’t know about you, but I need sleep. Fella will wake us if she has news to share when she gets back. If not, we’ll put our heads together and make a new plan first thing in the morning. You have my word.”

* * *

Martin had no dreams throughout the rest of the night. He slept like a rock in the spare room. When he woke, he fully expected sunlight to be streaming through the window, but as he rubbed his bleary eyes he realized it was still the dead of night. The blankets from his bed had found their way to the floor halfway across the room, and his arms and legs were cold. But that wasn’t what had woken him. He sat up and coughed.

Then something hit him in the face. A puff of dust exploded in his nose. He snorted and sputtered, clawing at his stinging eyes. A small, floppy-eared form hopped around on the windowsill.

“Bramble?” Martin looked back and forth between the little creature and the brown cloud settling around him. “Did you just throw a puffernut at me?”

“Bramble is sorry,” said the dark shape in the window, “but Martin is a very deep snore-sleeper, and Bramble had to wake him somehow. Moving the snuggle-blanket did not work, and poking did not work. Bramble did what Bramble had to do.”

“But I don’t snore.”

Bramble simply blinked.

“Did you really bite Podgin?”

“The mushroom-man tried to throttle Bramble,” he said with a shiver. “Bramble was afraid for his life, but Bramble will never do it again.” He wiped his tongue off to prove his point.

“Why were you sneaking around by the almond tree?”

“Martin mustn’t waste time asking questions. Must come with Bramble right away, nifty-nimble. Bramble has found the sun-drop girl!”

Martin was on his feet in a flash. He dashed across the room and whipped his socks and shoes on. “Where? Where did you find her? Is she alright?”

“Maybe Bramble didn’t actually find the sun-drop girl, but—”

“You just said...”

Bramble held out his hand. Clutched in his fingers was a length of blue cloth, soiled and tattered and ripped.

“That’s Elodie’s shawl. What happened to her?”

“Must follow Bramble.”

“Tell me where she is and I’ll fly there if I have to.”

Bramble pointed into the dark forest. “That way. That is where the sun-drop girl is. Must hurry! Mustn’t diddly-daddly. Sun-drop girl is in danger.”

“Danger from what?”

No answer. Bramble merely waggled his ears and tapped his foot. “Follow Bramble.”

“Give me half a minute,” said Martin. “I’ll need a weapon. The spear Nettle the dryad gave me! I left it by the door, I think.”

“Mustn’t waste time looky-searching. Mustn’t wake the others.”

“Why not? If Elodie’s in danger, I need all the help I can get.”

Bramble hopped down from the ledge and spoke in a hushed voice. “Mustn’t trust the servants of Nayadu.”

“None of us know what that means. Don’t make things up.”

The blue eyes widened. “Mustn’t tell a lie.”

“That’s right.” Martin knew he shouldn’t leave by himself, but if Elodie was in danger, there wasn’t a moment to lose, and rousing the others might take too long. “Take me to her.”

Bramble hopped out the window and disappeared. Martin climbed out after him. He followed Bramble across the garden, over the brook, and into the trees.

“How far is she?”

Bramble put a finger to his lips. “Shh. Mustn’t make a peep.”

The moment the lights from the lamps hanging around the cottage winked out behind the trees, the woods became a swirl of black ink. Martin pulled up short.

“Bramble, wait. This is ridiculous. I can’t see at all.”

Bramble pattered back to him. “Bramble forgot that Martin’s eyes cannot peeky-see in the dark.”

“I can grab a lamp,” said Martin. “I’m sure Fella wouldn’t mind if we borrowed one.”

“Mustn’t go back,” said Bramble with a squeak. “Mustn’t take any chances. Many hungry animals will come sniffy-snapping if Martin carries a light. But Bramble can be Martin’s eyes, and Martin can be Bramble’s feet.”

Furry hands and feet hooked in Martin’s clothes. Bramble scooted up his side and sat on his shoulder. He weighed about as much as a kitten.

“Martin can follow Bramble’s directions without whacky-walking into trees.”

Martin took a few tentative steps. “Why do I have the feeling we’ll end up walking off a cliff? But I guess we can give it a try, if you promise you’re telling the truth about Elodie.”

“Bramble promises. Mustn’t tell a lie.”

Navigating the woods all but blind was a frustrating endeavor. Bramble’s guidance and frequent warnings kept Martin clear of the trees, but even Bramble’s sharp eyes couldn’t catch all the roots and low branches. And even though Bramble wasn’t heavy, he turned out to be a cumbersome passenger. He bounced incessantly on Martin’s shoulder, clinging to Martin’s neck, hair, and ears so as to not tumble off.

However, once they put an hour or so between them and the cottage, Bramble began to relax a little. After slogging through a bed of cold ferns Bramble had failed to point out, Martin asked again which way they were going.

“To the north,” said Bramble. “Must cross the Minnychucky.”

“The Minnowchuck? So I was right all along! I knew Elodie had crossed. If it hadn’t been for my stupid arm...”

“Windy-woods past the river aren’t safe for Martin and the sun-drop girl. Must be careful!”

“Illo told me that part of the forest wasn’t safe for anyone.”

He fully expected Bramble to make a cryptic remark about the servants of Nayadu, but Bramble spent his next breath directing him around a steep bank. They never got back on the topic.

Martin wished he had insisted on bringing the dryad spear. That wasn’t his chief concern, though. Lack of sleep and his awkward, high-step pace taxed his energy faster than he wanted to admit. Even though he didn’t remember much about the feverish walk from the Minnowchuck to Fella’s cottage, he knew it would take them a few hours to reach the river unless Bramble knew shorter paths. Martin longed for a road to follow or even fields or farmlands to cross.

To make matters worse, thick clouds rolled in from behind them and wiped out what precious little moonlight filtered through the trees. Soon a light rain pattered on the leaves.

“Wonderful,” said Martin. “It just had to be tonight.”

“Bramble would be happy to find a hollow-cave to wait in until the drizzle drips elsewhere.”

“No, I won’t stop. It’s only water.”

“Oh, dear.”

The sprinkling became a steady rain. Despite the trees overhead, Martin was soaked within minutes. Wet grass and slick roots forced him to slow down. Bramble whimpered on his shoulder, wringing out his ears.

“How much farther?” Martin asked.

“Bramble has guided Martin down every shortcut Bramble knows, but Bramble is afraid there will be more sponge than Bramble before the Minnychucky.”

Martin gritted his teeth, blinked rainwater from his eyes, and pushed on. He envied Illo and the others, all warm and dry in their beds. He wondered if Fella had made it back already, or if the downpour had caught her out for his sake.

To his relief, the rain didn’t last long. The cloud cover stayed, but the drumming eased into a gentle tapping in the leaves. Martin slowed to a stop under an oak, his feet squishing with each step.

“Am I still going the right way?”

Bramble switched shoulders. “Bramble knows this part of the woods well, and Martin is not far from the Minnychucky now. Bramble will lead Martin on!”

Five steps later, the inevitable happened. Martin’s shoulder struck a tree, sending him swerving. His foot found a wet root, and the next thing he knew he was on his face in the grass and mud. Bramble sailed off his shoulder and rolled into the tree roots.

Martin spat out a clump of dirt. “I thought you were paying attention!”

“Bramble is sorry! Bramble was squeezing water from Bramble’s ears.”

Martin pushed himself to his knees. “This night is going to be the end of me. Are you okay?”

“Bramble has knocked his tenderness on a knobby-knot, but Bramble will live.”

“Good. Let’s...”

A familiar feeling flared in his wrist. It was slow this time. The itch, then the ache, then the fire, working up his arm from the veins in his wrist.

“Great,” said Martin, bracing himself. “Not this again.”

The warning pains rolled through his flesh and bone like distant thunder, but the real attack struck like a lightning bolt, driving Martin back to the earth.

Bramble scampered to his side. “What is Martin doing?”

“Just...give me a sec.” Martin spat out the words.

He fought to keep control of his senses this time, but it was a battle quickly lost. He clamped his arm under his chest and curled his legs before going as stiff as an iron pot. He retreated into himself, waiting for the pain to pass.

But it didn’t. It got worse. His muscles stretched. He groaned and twisted in the mud. A guttural shout passed through his lips, but he heard nothing, nothing but one haunting sound, the sound of beating wings. With the last ounce of resistance left in him, Martin cracked his eyes open.

Bramble backed away from him, his eyes round and scared. Then he turned and ran into the night.

Claws raked at Martin’s mind. Fangs closed around the hand that wasn’t there. His body changed even as he teetered on the edge of consciousness. Fur, claws, wings—he was an animal. Each beat of his heart was a battering ram to his ribs. The final blow struck, tipping him over the edge. All went black. All went silent. He gave up.

9. Flight to the Minnowchuck

Elodie wandered down a gradual slope into a shallow valley. Fog rose from the damp ground, which was soft and thick with moss. The trees groped at each other with twisted branches, and tangles of thorny thickets gnawed at their roots. Lizards scuttled across the path without a care in the world.

Elodie was lost. Once on the other side of the river, she had tried to keep her course straight in the hopes of eventually breaking free of the woods, but it didn’t take long for her to conclude that she had crossed a different river altogether. Instead of backtracking to the forest boundaries, she had delved deeper in.

Elodie knew that, when lost, the best way to be found was to remain in one place and wait for people to come to you. Here, however, she didn’t think that rule applied. No one was looking for her except Martin, and she didn’t see how sitting still would speed up the process.

She tried to go back to the river. Risking a second encounter with dryads seemed better than spending the rest of her life drifting through an endless forest. By that time, however, her sense of direction had gotten thoroughly muddled. She couldn’t find the river anywhere. Blisters stung on her feet, her legs ached, and she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast with Nub.

To make matters worse, the sun was going down. Daylight was fading, and if she didn’t find help quickly, she would have to spend the night out in the cold. At least in the dryad palace she had had a room to keep her warm. There was no telling what further misfortune awaited her in the woods.

Elodie kept moving, seeking a shelter for the night. Fog rose from the ground. It swirled at her feet, then her legs, and finally around her middle. It didn’t part and float away when she walked through it, as she expected fog to behave, but instead it wrapped around her so snuggly that she couldn’t see her own feet.

She wouldn’t have been surprised to find a giant ladling thick billows of mist like soup from a pot. A bird with black feathers alighted on a branch nearby and squawked. Elodie jolted and put her hand to her drumming heart.

She glared at the bird. “Don’t do that.”

The black bird squawked once more in defiance and flapped away. Elodie waited until it was gone before moving again. Now she eyed the trees around her warily, expecting something worse than a bird to jump out.

At last she gave up and sat with her back against a tree and pulled her knees to her chest. The sun blinked out. Walking around at night sounded like a terrible idea, so Elodie tried to sleep. Though she was physically exhausted, her mind kept her awake with thoughts of Martin, clean clothes, and her warm room. She wanted to be home.

For a long time she hugged her knees, staring at the ground between her feet. Clouds covered the sky and rain broke the fog. Elodie’s tree shielded her from the brunt of the downpour, and the rain soon moved on. The woods weren’t as eerie without the fog, but she wished she could sleep the night away.

Elodie hummed the tune of the dryad song to keep her imagination from filling the trees with unpleasant creatures. She wasn’t too keen on the words about Nayadu the shape-shifter, given her circumstances, but humming was better than listening to the dry whispers of the branches all night.

A foul smell seeped into the air. Elodie curled her nose. Leaves rustled at her feet. Something large flew nearby, beating its wings in a rapid rhythm. She forgot the song in an instant. There was no other sound. No branches cracking, no footsteps, no croaking or cawing of birds. Just the wings.

Elodie clenched her hands into fists. “I’m not scared of the dark,” she whispered. “I’m not scared of the dark. I’m not scared...”

The wings drew closer and the stench intensified. Her instincts told her to run, but she was afraid of what might follow her if she did.

Then Elodie heard a new sound. It was small, the kind that stands out all the more for being soft when all else is loud. A whimper, a whine. An animal in pain or fear. Elodie listened closely, and heard it again. The animal wasn’t far.

It took every ounce of bravery left in her to hobble away from her tree. The whimpering continued. She followed it deeper into the thickets and thorns, deeper into the stench of stale breath.

Not far from her tree, she found a thick hedge of prickly bushes, and all the way under it, so far in that she had to lie flat on her stomach to reach it, was a fox. The trapped animal stopped whimpering the moment it saw her. The fox flattened its ears and hissed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, silly,” said Elodie. “You’ve got to let me get you out of there.”

Branches creaked above and behind her, and she recognized her mistake. The fox wasn’t hissing at her. Elodie slowly stood. Something lurked behind her. She turned around. The forest kept still, but she knew it was out there. Watching her. Waiting.

“I—I’m not afraid of you.” She snapped a dry branch from the thicket, ignoring the thorns pricking her palm. She squared up in front of the fox’s hiding place. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re there. You smell worse than Clarenbald’s dirty socks.”

Nothing happened. The smell faded. Elodie counted out a full minute in her head before dropping her makeshift weapon and letting out a long breath.

She got down on her stomach again and inched forward. She scooped her hand under the fox’s stomach and pulled it out from under the thicket. The fox shivered in her arms. She comforted it, running her hands up and down its back. Her fingers came up sticky and wet.

“You poor thing.” She held the fox close to her chest. “I wish you could tell me what happened to you. I’d be able to help you a lot better if I know what was out there, but I’m as lost as you are.”

Elodie took the fox back to her tree, surprised she was able to find it again. She cradled the fox in her lap. It curled up and licked its wounds.

“At least we’re not alone anymore,” said Elodie.

The fox kept licking.

She smiled. “You probably have a home around here, maybe even a family waiting up for you. I won’t keep you if you need to get back to them. As long as you stay out of more trouble.”

Elodie’s eyelids grew heavy. The fox stayed on her lap, awake and vigilant, its ears turned to the forest around them. Elodie fell asleep.

The forest turned against her in her dreams. Shadows of hidden animals closed in around her from all sides. She had no escape, but neither could she stand. The creatures drew the circle tighter and tighter.

One of the animal shadows broke from the circle and charged at her, roiling along the forest floor like a ball of smoke. She braced herself for the collision, but a towering form appeared before her. It had the shape of a bear, but its contour glowed like a dawning horizon. The bear swatted aside the animal shadows with one sweep of its powerful arm.

Elodie pressed herself against the tree, wary of the bear. The bear, however, paid her no heed. It paced in front of Elodie’s tree, huffing at the forest. Then it towered on two legs and roared. When the roar died, the glow around the bear winked out. Bathed in the dark night once again, Elodie only saw the bear’s lumbering form as it melted into the woods.

Elodie woke halfway from her dream, just enough to feel the fox’s tongue on her hand, and she smiled. Then she fell back to sleep.

* * *

Elodie didn’t wake again until speckles of sunlight tickled her face. She welcomed the warmth with a yawn Clarenbald’s maids would have reprimanded her for. She stretched her arms and legs, then sniffed the air. She smelled burning wood, sweet smoke, and the aroma of cooking apples...her eyes popped open.

The fox was gone. A woman sat nearby, tending to a bed of hot coals in a ring of stones. A loaf of bread warmed on a flat rock on the embers alongside a neat row of sliced apples. The woman poked at the embers with a thin stick, and as she did she sang to herself. Elodie was so perplexed, it took her a few seconds to recognize the dryad’s song.

Elodie wished she had kept the thorny branch. “Who are you?”

The woman glanced up. Her eyes were dark and colorless, like smooth pebbles from a brook. She was dressed in the durable clothes and knee-high boots of an explorer.

“I thought I might have to poke you with a stick,” said the woman. “Hungry?”

The grumblings in Elodie’s stomach triumphed over her apprehension. She moved to the opposite side of the coals. The bread and golden-brown apples made her mouth water. The woman removed the flat stone from the embers with a pair of branches and set it aside to cool.

“Where did you learn that song you were just singing?” Elodie asked.

“From a wanderer during the night. She sang it to comfort herself, but she didn’t know other ears were listening.”

Elodie didn’t like the thought of strangers creeping around her in the dark. “I was looking for a friend of mine, but I got lost. At least, that’s the short version. To be honest, I don’t even know where I am, but it’s not a pleasant place, is it?” Then she paused. “But...why are you in the woods?”

“I was looking for you. I can take you where you want to go.”

Elodie’s eyes narrowed. “How? You’re a stranger to me. Not to sound rude, but why should I trust you?”

“I know who you are. Your name is Elodie, right? You’re from Bardun Village, outside the forest. You and Martin fell into the river, and you’ve been lost ever since.” The woman pushed the food in Elodie’s direction. “Better?”

“How do you know all that?”

The woman smiled. “Word gets around.” She pointed at the food. “It’ll cool quickly. Eat up, and I’ll take you to him.”

“To Martin?”

“Yes.”

Trying not to let her excitement show too much, Elodie dug into the bread and baked apples. They were plain, but after a day and night with nothing to eat, she relished each bite. “Last night there was something watching me from the trees. Was that you?”

The woman laughed. “Why, do I smell that much like rotting bones?”

Elodie eyed the food. “No, I guess not. What was it, then?”

“Forest beasts,” said the woman. “They were doing what forest beasts do. They’re gone for now.”

“Right,” Elodie murmured. “I had the oddest dream about that.” She downed a few quick bites of food. “Where’s Martin now? Is he okay? I’ve been worried sick about him.”

“I’ll answer as many questions as I can along the way,” said the woman. “Trust me, he’s been worrying about you just as much, if not more. He created quite the ruckus in the woods yesterday, tearing around to find you. I guess I got luckier than he did.”

Elodie’s cheeks warmed. “That sounds like him. Did Martin send you?”

“No, no one sent me, but I have a knack for watching over these woods, and you needed my help. Like I said, word gets around, and I see a lot.”

“That’s both cryptic and creepy.”

The woman laughed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to answering questions about myself. We’ll talk more on the way, and I’ll be as straightforward as I can.”

Elodie ate the last bits of apple. “How far?”

“We have some distance to cover.”

“Then I’m glad you brought food. What should I call you?”

The woman tilted her head as though considering the question. “The song you hummed last night, it was about me. I’m Nayadu.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Elodie with a frown. “I learned that song from the dryads, but they described Nayadu as a wild and dangerous creature.”

The woman smiled apologetically. “There’s some truth to those words. I’m a shape-shifter. A morpher, they call me. It—it’s not always the prettiest, and dryad lore tends to pick out the ugly details.”

Elodie inched away. “Maybe this isn’t such a great idea.”

“No, please don’t go.” Regret flashed across the woman’s eyes. “I...I’m sorry. This is a lot for you. But you’re safe with me, I promise. The fox you found in the thicket last night? That was me. Those beasts you smelled weren’t after you, they were after me. Let me help you now.”

“Wait a minute. If you were the fox, then that means...the bear I thought was a dream...”

Nayadu nodded with a downcast gaze.

“This is such a strange, strange forest.” Elodie held her head in her hands.

“I chased off the animals last night after I regained my strength with you,” said Nayadu, “but we’re deep in their territory. I can’t guarantee they won’t be back. Come with me, and I’ll take you straight to Martin. You have my word. I promise not to do anything startling without warning you first.” She finished with a bitter grin.

Elodie considered Nayadu’s claims. Morpher or not, Nayadu was the first forest dweller to offer her genuine help and kindness, and she couldn’t turn down a chance to be with Martin again. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

* * *

Martin lay like a stone under the oaks. Dawn approached. Birds heralded the morning somewhere in the woods, but everything stayed quiet around him. Everything except his own ragged breathing. A twig stirred under each hot breath. Martin stared at it. He didn’t want to see anything else because he already knew what he would find. He didn’t want to see the furrows clawed in the dirt, the gouges in the oak trunks, or his own hideous shape—wolfish, winged, hideous.

Even though he couldn’t see past the dirt and twigs under his face, each drawn breath stabbed at his sense of smell with more clarity than he had ever felt before. He smelled the cold approach of dawn and the roots deep in the earth. He smelled the mouse hiding in the grass, too afraid of him to twitch its nose. He smelled the birds that had already flown to safer places. But it was the smell of his matted fur that stung him the most.

The pharmacist had been right all along during those dark nights in the apothecary. There had been poison in Martin’s arm, and Martin now understood that no medicine could have cured it, not even the amputation. The poison in his blood was never going to end his life. Instead, it had transformed him into an animal.

Martin held still long enough for the poor mouse to poke its whiskers out of the ferns. He snarled at it for no reason other than not wanting to be seen by anyone or anything.

The mouse squeaked and vanished.

At length, Martin came to grips with the fact that hiding in the woods would do him no good. Bramble was gone, and as far as he could tell, no one else knew where he was. Fella. He had to find Fella. She would know what to do. She always did, more than Illo or anyone else he could think of, at least.

He shook some resolve into his limbs and stood. Even on all fours, he stood only half as tall as his human self. Martin hesitated, unsettled by the sight of a brown paw where his left hand had been so long ago. He didn’t know how or why his change had restored the hand, or paw, but at least he wouldn’t be crippled.

For the first time in days, he was glad Elodie wasn’t with him. He might as well have curled up and died if she saw him like this. His stomach dropped at the thought. What if Fella had found Elodie during the night? Would she even be able to look at him? Martin swept those worries aside for the time being. Finding the cottage was his main concern.

To Martin’s surprise, traveling on four legs came instinctively, as though a portion of his mind had gone animal as well, a possibility he decided not to dwell on. He loped through the trees, backtracking the way he and Bramble had come from. Soon he smelled smoke. Without the pitch black of night, the rain, and his own human clumsiness to slow him down, he made quick progress.

As the rays of a gray sun cracked through the low branches, he came to the same brook that flowed past Fella’s house. From there on he didn’t have to rely on his nose to guide him. He trotted alongside the water. With each step, his shoulders slunk lower and his wings drooped closer to his sides.

He stopped to drink from the stream. Catching a shadow of his reflection was enough for him to second-guess his plan. Maybe, if he thought long enough, he could find a way to change back on his own and spare himself the shame of crawling to Fella’s door like a stray dog.

The smoke aroma thickened in the air. Martin slowed to a crawl when he first saw the gray plume trailing into the sky. Martin’s ears twitched on their own. He circled around to the front of the cottage. The lamps still burned. He crouched low, out of sight.

Illo sat by the door with her head in her hands. She didn’t move at all. Her bow lay across her feet and her quiver of arrows leaned against her side. Her hair spilled over her face and shoulders, concealing her features.

Nothing else moved around the cottage, but Martin wanted to know if the others were awake as well before showing himself. Illo coughed and stirred. She straightened, pushing hair out of her face. Then she tensed and put a hand on her bow.

Martin hunkered down, holding his breath. She smelled him. He should have realized that would give him away.

The door opened. Podgin shuffled out with a steaming dish in each hand. He passed one to Illo, then sat beside her.

“Any sign of them?”

Illo shook her head. She cupped the dish to warm her hands. “Eggs? A bit too soon for that, don’t you think?”

Martin’s heart sank. She sounded so tired.

“Eggs first thing in the morning are a taste of sunrise straight to the buds.” Podgin dug into his breakfast. Halfway through his third bite, he paused. “But I’ve never known eggs to stink like this.”

“It’s not the eggs,” said Illo.

Podgin edged away from her. “Really, Illo? That’s simply wretched.”

She punched his knee. “No, you toadstool. Something’s out there, some dead animal. I caught a whiff of it last night before Martin left.”

So they knew. Of course they did. Martin silently shifted his weight. What about the rest, though? Elodie and Fella? He had to find out.

“It’s not a boar or anything. I’ll get Aguilax to fish it out and carry it away later,” said Illo. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Sleeping under the table,” said Podgin. “I thought I’d sneeze my nose off trying to pull a chair out. Speaking of which, must you keep your bowls in the highest cupboard?”

Illo didn’t answer. She ate slowly, never looking away from the woods. Martin felt sure she would see him, but she swept over his hiding spot twice without batting an eye.

“I don’t know who to worry about more,” she said when her bowl was empty. “Martin’s an idiot and far more likely to wind up in trouble, but Fella’s my sister. She promised she’d be back soon, and she would never break a promise without good reason.”

Podgin twiddled his fingers. “Do you plan on looking for them? Search parties seem to be the trend these days.”

“I want to,” she said. “But what’s the point? At the rate things are going, I’d end up lost, and Aguilax would end up lost, and then there wouldn’t be anyone left to stop you from inhaling the pantry.”

“Gooseberries,” said Podgin. “Foiled again.”

Illo rolled her eyes as only she could. “I suppose you’ll want that spade now.”

“It can wait. The kitchen needs tidying and the cat needs waking. A broom should work for both. Who knows? Maybe we’ll all be poking fun at you over tea for fretting by the time I’m done sneezing.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” said Illo, planting her chin in her hands.

Podgin scooped up the empty bowls and retreated into the cottage. Illo stayed put. Only the occasional sigh and glance into the trees proved she hadn’t fallen asleep again.

Martin made up his mind, deciding it was better to show himself now with only Illo outside. He perked up his ears and flattened his wings in an attempt to look a bit less like an ugly beast. This wasn’t going to be easy or pleasant.

He stepped into the clearing, his paws padding softly across the grass. Such was his inadvertent stealth that Illo only lifted her head when a fresh wave of his scent hit her.

Martin pulled up short. He had expected surprise, disgust, maybe even fear from her. But the blank look of shock on her face when she laid eyes on him caught him off guard. He had no idea what to do next. He couldn’t talk or explain himself. He hadn’t thought this through at all, and as her hand went to her bow, he realized just how much danger he had placed himself in.

Illo drew an arrow to her cheek.

Martin saw the same gleam in her eyes he had seen when she first found him in the pit—the look of a hunter before her prey. Dropping to his belly, Martin locked eyes with her. His mind grasped at ways to communicate with her, but he came up blank.

Podgin banged the door open. Illo flinched and fired. Martin rolled aside as the arrow grazed his ear and thudded into the ground beside him. He leaped into the brush. Illo pulled a second arrow from her quiver. Martin ducked behind an oak, breathless.

“Why’d you do that, Podgin?” said Illo. “I had it!”

“I was watching from the window,” the little man sputtered. “It was going to eat you.”

“No way, I would’ve gotten it first.”

Martin didn’t stick around to hear more. He fled. His legs tore up the forest floor and carried him far away from the cottage. He ran until his legs burned, and then his body took over and he flew. With a stake of shame lodged in his chest, he rammed from tree to tree until he found his balance. His mind quickly adapted to his new strengths, and soon he skimmed close to the ground as easily as a bird.

The Minnowchuck, or so he guessed, passed under him, but he kept going, driven by an irresistible urge to hide from the world. To his dismay, he found his leathery wings were built for bursts of speed and agility, not covering long distances. They tired a lot faster than he wanted them to, and he was forced to land. Now he understood how Aguilax felt after carrying people around.

Martin found shelter under a lip of stone. It wasn’t much for cover, but he was too tired to go any farther. A growl rolled in his throat. He scraped his claws down his shoulders and legs but only tore off a clump of matted fur. He curled up against the stone, out of the morning sun. His jaw rested on the ground. Exhausted and frightened, he closed his eyes and wished for it all to end.

* * *

Nayadu moved like a wraith through the forest, placing each step with effortless agility. Her body was in constant, limber motion as they passed over boulders and under toppled trees. She was one with the woods.

Elodie also became one with the woods, but in a different way. Her feet found every stone and root in the ground, and rude branches snagged her sleeves to the point where she ripped the tattered cloth from her arms just to keep the bare thread from tickling her. The dryad fabric was stained with dirt beyond washing, anyways, and she couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

She only broke the silence between them once they covered a fair distance. “Those nasty creatures from last night won’t find us on the move, will they?”

“They’re called trunders,” said Nayadu, “and if they decide to track us down, they’ll do it whether we’re moving or hiding.”

“But you’re not afraid of them.”

“I’ve learned the hard way not to be so foolish.”

Elodie cringed and glanced over her shoulder, just in case. “What are trunders like? I never saw them, I only smelled them.”

“Out of all the animals in the woods, trunders are some of the foulest. They fly like bats and bite like wolves, but aren’t kin to either. They’re quick when they hunt, and most don’t see them unless it’s too late.”

Elodie decided not to ask more about the trunders. She hoped she never had to face one. She did, however, want to know more about her new companion, but she couldn’t think of a way to ask questions without coming across as prying or rude.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s it like for you to, you know, change?”

“Uncomfortable,” said Nayadu. “It feels like wearing someone else’s coat, always too big or too small. I only morph when I have to.”

“I wish I could turn into an animal,” said Elodie. “I’d morph into the biggest bug there is and send old Clarenbald’s maids shrieking out the front door. Work would never be dull again.”

Nayadu pursed her lips, but a grin tugged at her mouth all the same. “Perhaps not, but don’t be too envious. Being a morpher is a blessing and a curse. At best, people don’t understand you. At worst, they fear and avoid you.”

“But you’re not ashamed of it, are you?”

Nayadu turned to her with a pained expression. “I’ve had to hide the truth a lot.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” said Elodie.

“You needn’t be. On the bright side, secrecy is a great way to build a reputation in this forest. To some, I’m an enigma, and that suits me fine. To others, like the dryads, I’m a monster no spear can bring down. Just imagine how convenient that’ll be if I ever have to mess with them.”

The words to the dryad song came back to Elodie. “But if you hear the shifting growl, scurry home, lad, break no vow!” She laughed. “I think I get it now.”

Nayadu finished the verse. “Strike no stone, bend no bough, lest Nayadu be on the prowl. Which, as it turns out, I usually am.”

“Do you have a home in the forest?”

“The forest is my home. All of it. The dryads think they rule the place, but outside of their palace, no one really bothers with them.”

“If you ever decide to give them a scare,” said Elodie, “I hope I’m there to watch. They treated me harshly and unkindly. Most of them, that is. I never want to see that island again, or their mad king. He’s a horrid beast, worse than trunders, if you ask me.”

Nayadu’s smile dimmed. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Why not? He almost turned me into a tree.”

They crested a knoll covered in tiny flowers before Nayadu answered. “King Prickle wasn’t always the way he is now. He used to be an ordinarily decent ruler.”

Elodie snorted. “I have a hard time believing that. What changed?”

“The queen became ill. She could not be cured. King Prickle did all in his power to stop the disease, but they both knew her time was running out. Rather than watch his beloved suffer, the king turned her into a blossoming tree beside his throne so that she might live on beside him. But even though he spared her from a slow death, he still lost her, and he never overcame his grief. That was the beginning of his fall into madness.”

Elodie thought back to King Prickle’s ranting. “I thought he was maniacal and evil,” she said. “Now I see he’s just maniacal and sad. I still never want to see him again, but perhaps I shouldn’t have whacked him with a spear.”

To her surprise, Nayadu tossed back her head and laughed. “Here I am, able to change my shape at will, and yet you’re the one who keeps surprising me. I understand more and more why Martin values you so much.”

Elodie felt warmth spread through her. She smiled and said no more.

An hour or so passed with sparse conversation. The terrain evened out as they moved through cleaner woods where lush ferns and soft petals grew instead of thorny underbrush. Despite the easier going, Elodie’s feet hurt. She lagged behind until Nayadu had to stop and wait for her.

“Sorry,” said Elodie. “I’m doing my best, but I have more blisters than toes at this point.”

“You should have spoken up sooner,” said Nayadu. “Here, sit.”

Elodie found a cool splotch of shade to collapse in. Nayadu knelt by her and asked her to take her shoes off.

Elodie scrunched her face. “Why?”

“I’m going to help you,” Nayadu insisted. “There’s more to being a morpher than shape-shifting, you know.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then watch.” Nayadu peeled off Elodie’s shoes and socks, then sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Ouch.”

Elodie’s courier shoes had rubbed the skin raw on both her heels.

“Ouch indeed,” said Elodie. “Those aren’t blisters.”

Without a word, Nayadu cupped Elodie’s feet in her hands, one at a time. A chill seeped into her skin around the sores, and Elodie watched in fascination as the blood faded and her skin stitched itself back together. The stinging stopped. Before she knew it, her feet were as good as new.

“Wait, did you just do that?”

“Better than trotting around as a fox, isn’t it?”

“Are you kidding? I think both are amazing.” She thought of Martin’s arm. “What else can you heal?”

“I have yet to see a physical wound I can’t mend.” There was a hint of pride in Nayadu’s voice. “That being said, I have to be careful. To heal others, I must give of my own strength, so I have limits. Blisters and scabs aren’t a problem, of course.”

Elodie rubbed her restored heels. “What happens if you try too much?”

Nayadu spoke slowly, as if choosing her words purposefully. “One time, years ago, I heard the cries of a young fawn. I found her lying hurt and alone. Her injury was serious, but I tried to heal her anyway. At first I thought I’d gone too far, and I feared for my own life as well as hers, but we both pulled through.” She shrugged. “Now I know.”

“I’m glad you found me,” said Elodie. “You have the kindest heart I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet for helping me.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” said Nayadu. “Like I said, this forest is my home. I watch over the people under my roof. Now, shall we carry on? We can stop for a longer rest once we’re across the river.”

Elodie nodded. She slipped into her grimy socks and shoes, tightened the laces, and they were on their way.

“There’s still something I don’t get,” said Elodie. “Why a fox? Not that I question your methods, but wouldn’t something like a bird have been more useful?”

“That’s a valid question,” said Nayadu. “The answer is simple. I may be an outcast, but I still have some pride. I refuse to stoop to animals whose sole purpose in life is to peck worms. I tried it once, years ago. A sparrow, to be exact. I found out right away that flying isn’t my thing. When I morphed back, I threw up and couldn’t walk. Since then, I’ve stayed on the ground.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how others do it. As for the rest, well, I thought I’d be safe as a fox, even on this side of the river. Once I knew your general whereabouts, my goal was to find you as quickly as possible. Besides, I’ve been a fox many times before. They’re the coat with the closest fit, you could say.”

“I thought you were a normal fox when I found you,” said Elodie. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have held you on my lap.”

“I think we both needed comfort at the time. The trunders caught me by surprise. They got their claws in my back before I slipped away and hid. Then I had to wait for you to fall asleep before I could heal myself. You were afraid enough already.”

“I wasn’t that scared,” Elodie muttered.

The conversation lulled again. Elodie figured she had asked enough questions for a while, so she kept her eyes to the ground and her thoughts to herself. She caught herself humming the dryad song again and snapped her mouth shut. She simply had to get that tune out of her head.

Nayadu stopped so abruptly that Elodie bumped into her.

“What is it?”

Nayadu held up a hand. She motioned for them to be silent, then pointed to her nose. The stench was upon them again. The trunders were back.

“I thought we were safely away from them,” Elodie whispered.

“Apparently not,” said Nayadu. “Once they find prey, they don’t easily give up the hunt.”

“I really don’t like the way you said prey.”

“Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

A terrible howl rent the forest in two. Elodie clamped her hands over her ears. The trunder smell intensified tenfold, and when she looked up, she saw it. The beast drifted into view like a black kite. Leathery wings churned the trees with gusts of foul wind. Its snout curled back, revealing rows of stout fangs, and its muscled, canine body was covered in dark fur.

Nayadu edged away from Elodie. “Be ready to ride. We’re getting out of here.” She hesitated. “Please…don’t watch me.”

The trunder alighted on a thick branch, its eyes fixed on Nayadu. Elodie turned away. A warm light pulsed from where Nayadu stood. The morpher grunted and pulled in a deep breath. The light winked out. Elodie looked up. Nayadu the woman was gone. In her place, a speckled doe stomped the ground. Elodie knew what to do. She heaved herself onto Nayadu’s back.

Nayadu took off like a stone from a slingshot. At the same time, the trunder launched itself from the tree in pursuit. Its wings snapped open and it raked the ground with its claws. Elodie clung to Nayadu’s neck with both arms, her legs rigid against the doe’s sides.

Nayadu streaked through the woods with powerful bounds. Her hooves found sure footing in the soft earth, and she veered as close to the trees as she could to keep the beast at bay. Trees and rocks became blurs. Rushing air whipped Elodie’s hair as she devoted all her strength to hanging on. Nayadu would have to heal more than scrapes if she fell off now.

Trunder cries drew Elodie’s attention to the left. A second beast barreled towards them, a streak of tawny red. Nayadu swerved out of the way, nearly losing her balance. The woods opened up before them. The trees grew too far apart to offer much cover, so Nayadu dashed in a straight line in a vain attempt to outrun the trunders. Soon her breaths came in labored gasps. She slowed down.

Elodie glanced under her arm. The trunders bore down on them. She saw the spittle on their teeth.

Up ahead, the forest tightened again. Nayadu surged ahead in a final, desperate burst of speed. Elodie held her breath. If they made it in time, they might—

Claws shredded through the back of her dress and drew a fiery line down her skin. She screamed and lost her grip on Nayadu’s neck. Her legs slipped. Nayadu dug her hooves into the ground, but it was too late. Elodie pitched to the earth and rolled. She came to a stop on her stomach. Her eyes swam with color and her back burned. Hands gripped her shoulders and heaved her up.

Nayadu, back in her human form, snapped her fingers in front of Elodie’s eyes. “You have to run. Get out of here as fast as you can.”

Elodie steadied herself. “It hurts.” She couldn’t see the trunders, but she could hear them in the trees. They were close.

“I know it does,” said Nayadu. She was already pushing Elodie onward. “There’s no time. Listen closely. Run south as fast as you can, and don’t stop for anything. The river isn’t far. Cross it, then keep going. South, you hear me? Keep the sun on your left.”

“I know that.” Elodie clenched her teeth against the pain.

“Good. You’ll find—”

Trunder cries cut her off.

“They’re coming,” said Nayadu. “Just run. Don’t wait for me. They’ll be looking for you where—”

The winged beasts struck from above. Nayadu shoved Elodie away just before the trunders drove her to the ground. Elodie stared in shock, but Nayadu’s light burst from the tangle of wings and legs, and a great bear rose from the fray. The bear flung the trunders off its shoulders, then turned and snarled at Elodie.

Elodie didn’t want to leave Nayadu to face the trunders alone, but she knew the morpher could fend for herself. She did as she was told. She ran until Nayadu and the trunders were far behind and she could hear them no longer. Nothing gave chase, but she didn’t stop. She kept running until the river rushed in front of her, and with no rocks to hop across this time, she swam. Water seared her back and filled her mouth. The current carried her downstream, but she reached the other side and clambered out on her hands and knees. She got up and kept going.

Sun on her left. Sun on her left. Go south. Elodie repeated the instructions to keep her mind from succumbing to the pain. Her lungs burned. Her legs felt like logs.

She didn’t know what she was looking for or where she was going anymore, but she only stopped when her body shut down. She tumbled down a bank into a bed of leaves. Her strength was gone. She couldn’t even lift her face from the ground. She stopped fighting the pain in her back and the fatigue in her body, and though she knew she was blacking out, she let it happen.

* * *

Voices dragged her back to consciousness. Face down in the bed of wet leaves, Elodie groaned and sought the strength to rise. She didn’t find it. The voices, two of them, drew nearer, and since she couldn’t do anything else, she listened. They were strangers, not Nayadu or Martin. She hoped they weren’t dryad soldiers.

“For the last time, you utter fungus,” said one, “this isn’t my fault. What was I supposed to do, spend the night outside his door?”

“There you go again,” answered the other. “Being so gruff and generally unpleasant.”

They didn’t sound like dryads, and Elodie didn’t care who the voices belonged to anymore. Voices meant people, or something similar, so she called out for help.

Or she tried to. Her throat was raw and weak, and her plea came out as bleat more than anything else. The footsteps stopped above her.

“Hold on, Podgin, did you hear that?” A gasp. “Look! What’s that thing down there?”

Someone slid down the bank and landed beside Elodie. They rolled her over. Without leaves poking at her face, she let her eyes blink open.

A girl with straight, yellow hair and a worried frown knelt over her. “What happened to you? You look like a bog boar chewed you up and spit you out.”

“Must be a long-lost sister of yours.”

The girl glared over her shoulder. “Oh, be quiet. Can’t you see she’s half-dead?” She turned back to Elodie. “Can you talk?”

Elodie opened her mouth to no avail. She started to lose her grasp again. Images of Nayadu and the trunders blocked out all coherent thought. Her eyes welled.

“Wait a minute,” said the girl. She ran her fingers down a strand of Elodie’s tangled hair. “Hobbling hopper-toads, Podgin. It’s her.”

10. The Trunder

Martin spent the entire morning under the stone ledge, only moving to scare away any birds or rodents that wandered too close for comfort. He wasn’t worried about Illo tracking him down, not with all the distance he had covered in his flight. This was the farthest he had ever been from home, deeper in the woods than he ever thought he would end up.

Shortly past noon, hunger and thirst drove him from his secluded shelter. He explored the area in search of a stream or pond. He was about to give up and head back to the Minnowchuck when he found a shallow trench in the ground, lined by walls of moss and stone. A trickle of water, barely enough to lap up with his tongue, wound from the trench. Martin ebbed his thirst, then followed the trench to a small grotto formed by the elements. Slate shards crunched under his paws as he circled the hollow. Water cascaded from the ledges above into a clean puddle no more than a foot deep. It was from this puddle that the trench stream flowed.

The grotto looked like a better place to hide than the stone ledge he had spent the morning under. After a few more laps to check for signs of intrusive life, of which he found none, Martin drank from the pool until his thirst was gone. He ducked his head under the cascade and let the water pound against him, drowning out all other sound.

Next, he lay down in the shade under the grotto walls and considered food. There was no denying his body was designed for hunting. He thought of the mouse hiding in the grass earlier that morning, but the idea of taking a life with his own teeth just to feed himself revolted him. There had to be other options. Yet hunger whittled away his resolution as the afternoon wore on.

Martin locked the grotto’s location in his memory before splashing down the trench into the woods. Once in the open forest, he recalled everything he knew about edible plants. There wasn’t much to go on. Poking around the base of the nearby oaks revealed a clump of white mushrooms. He sniffed them. They looked harmless enough, so he gingerly pried them loose and chomped down on them. An acrid taste assaulted his tongue. He spat the mushrooms out, only to watch them turn dark and blotchy and wither on the ground.

The color reminded him of the veins in his arm prior to his change. He backed away from the mutilated mushrooms, growling at them as if this whole mess were their fault. Then he remembered Podgin’s escapade with the finches. Eggs sounded like a much better alternative to fungi, but he didn’t know how to go about finding a nest. He didn’t even know what eggs smelled like when they were still in the shell. Frustrated, he discarded that idea altogether.

Martin returned to his grotto but only stayed there for a few minutes before his stomach protested against its neglect. He couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. He had to hunt if he wanted to eat.

Hunting turned out to be a chore in its own right. He roamed the woods in widening circles, only catching wind of a few squirrels. Of course, these were next to impossible to catch once they darted into the trees. Martin explored farther away from the grotto until, by a combination of luck and his sense of smell, he tracked down a hare. In two quick bounds he pinned the hare to the ground with his paws. The hapless animal shook under his weight, and he let it go out of pity. He watched it streak away and immediately regretted his decision. Being trapped in the skin of an animal was bad, but starving himself to death was hardly a solution.

Longing to put something in his stomach, and hoping his animal organs could handle more than his human organs, Martin nibbled on a few blue thistle flowers. Just like the mushrooms, the thistles darkened and withered when his teeth broke them. Not only that, but they tasted like mop water.

For the second time that afternoon, Martin went back to the grotto on an empty stomach. He drank from the pool, curled in the shade again, and felt generally miserable about himself. Perhaps he should have taken Illo’s arrow as a stroke of mercy.

The waterfall lulled him into a restless sleep, a welcome relief from the hunger pangs. When he woke, the shade cast by the grotto walls had expanded almost all the way across the pool. Martin raised his head, tasting the air with his nostrils. There was a new smell in the grotto, drifting his way from the forest outside the trench. His heartbeat quickened. The scent was sickeningly familiar, because it was the same scent that permeated his own body.

He wasn’t alone. Whatever creature he had become, there were more out there. Curiosity roused Martin from the safety of his grotto. He poked his head out of the trench. The other animal was close.

Then he saw them. They dropped from the stout branches of an oak, not one, but two beasts like him. Martin tensed, gripping the ground with his claws in case he had to run. The animals didn’t act threatening. They approached him slowly. One was black and bulky, with a chunk of one of its wings torn out. The other was smaller than Martin, lithe, and with a tint of red in its fur. Martin sniffed again. The black one was male, the red one female.

After a moment of curious studying, the female came closer. Martin caught his breath, prepared to fight or flee as needed. She nudged his shoulder with her wing. A greeting? Martin clumsily returned the gesture, and the female made a small grunt of approval in the back of her throat. The male stayed put.

Satisfied he wasn’t in any immediate danger from the newcomers, Martin relaxed the muscles in his shoulders. He wanted to ask these creatures what to call them, if there were more of them in the woods, and most importantly, if they knew how to restore his human form. Those questions stayed trapped in his mind. All he managed was a rather pitiful sounding whimper.

The female sniffed at the ground, winding her way to the trench. She stopped at the trench’s mouth and looked expectantly at Martin. Did she want to go in? Were they trying to join him in his grotto? Martin padded alongside the female in the trench. The female urged the male to come with them. The three animals entered the grotto, where both the male and the female poked around the slate bed and the pool, and drank.

Martin reclaimed his spot in the shade by the wall. The other two played around in the pool for a bit, splashing at each other like pups. Martin’s head fell to his paws, and he folded his wings neatly at his back. While he watched them, he decided to give them names. If they were to be his companions in misery, even for a short time, he needed something to call them by. He dubbed the female Copper because of her hue. The male’s dark coat and square snout reminded Martin of a wolverine he had once spotted near the Cabbage Cart pig pen, but that was too long, so the he simply referred to the male as Wolf.

Choosing names for Copper and Wolf only took him a few minutes, but by the time they were properly christened they had tired of their sport in the water. They splashed up the slate bed and sat in front of him, as though reprimanding him for not joining the fun. The only response Martin had for them was a hollow gurgle in his stomach.

Copper poked him with her snout. She bounced to the grotto’s edge, then shook her wings. Martin didn’t get up. Copper stood by the trench. Even Wolf gave Martin a nudge, urging him to rise. Martin ignored both of them. He didn’t want to go anywhere, not even for food.

He expected the others to grow bored and leave, but Copper and Wolf relented and stayed in the grotto. They followed Martin’s example and found shelter in the cool shade, only rising now and then to lap water from the pool or sniff the air in the trench—what for, Martin wasn’t sure.

As the time passed, Martin wondered what Illo and the others were doing. He vowed never to complain about Illo’s teasing or Podgin’s griping if he ever got the chance to be with them again. And Elodie...her smile filled his mind, but it turned his heart cold. Hers was a smile he would never be able to face as long as he had wings and claws. He feared now more than ever for her safety. Given all the chaos he had gone through in the last day and a half, there was no telling what the woods might have done to her.

* * *

Afternoon turned to evening. The grotto was one big pool of shade by the time Martin moved again. Over the last couple of hours, hunger had renewed its assault on his body, overpowering the urge to stay in the slate. The flat pieces of stone scraped and rattled as he rose off his stomach.

Copper and Wolf glanced up. They were on their feet in an instant. Martin could tell by the eager looks on their faces that they were as hungry as he was. He didn’t know why they had stayed with him in the grotto all this time instead of giving up on him and fending for themselves, but their company was the closest thing to comfort he had felt since his change.

The three of them filed down the trench. Their paws splashed in the shallow stream, and a pair of starlings made a quick exit as they passed by. Copper eyed the birds but let them be. They left the trench behind and headed away from parts of the forest Martin knew, away from the Minnowchuck. Martin let Copper and Wolf lead him.

The woods spilled into a damp valley where the sun only grazed the ground with its fingertips. The trees, grass, and leaves lacked the vibrant colors that characterized the rest of the forest, but already Martin saw more signs of life. Plump lizards and bugs skittered out of reach, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the lime-green tail of a sage viper winding up a tree.

Martin thought the others planned on hunting these small creatures, but Copper proved him wrong. She flew into the boughs of a spacious oak and beckoned for Martin and Wolf to join her. They did so, and for the next few minutes they traversed from tree to tree with ease. If only Illo could have seen Martin then.

Copper’s tactic soon paid off. A startled pheasant burst from the tree they had just hopped to, taken by surprise. Copper launched herself from the branch. The pheasant never stood a chance. Copper looped back around to the tree with the bird clamped in her jaws. She looked pleased with herself, but she had hardly landed when she and Wolf both froze as one. Martin followed their example out of reflex, and when he did, he heard what they heard.

A voice wavered in the woods nearby, and it got gradually closer. The voice sounded so familiar, but Martin didn’t recognize it right away. When the owner of the voice came into view, Martin’s lip curled up around his teeth.

A lone figure ambled along in their direction. He was short and twiggy and brown, with white, grassy hair and red eyes. It was none other than the mad dryad king. He spoke to himself, his murmuring getting louder and louder with each step.

“Flower white, flower bright, suddenly you’re dry and dead,” chanted King Prickle. “I had it. I deserved it. They were jealous, and I’ve been robbed, robbed, robbed. Woe! Woe to anyone who wears a crown.” All of a sudden, as if overtaken by anger, he began to yell. “Get out! Get out of my sight! I don’t want you.” He danced on his feet and waved his arms haphazardly.

King Prickle stopped near their tree, completely oblivious to their presence, and sobbed into the crook of his arm. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself, then snapped a thin branch from the nearest trunk and dropped to his rear on the ground. He dug into the mud with the stick, tracing random shapes and squiggles. He said no more, though every once in a while he broke out into sobs or little fits of rage.

Martin gripped the branch with his claws. Maybe, just maybe, if the king kept talking, he could glean information regarding Elodie. He glanced at the others. Copper still held the bird in her mouth, and Wolf tried to take it from her without success. Neither showed much interest in the dryad king, but for the moment they were in no rush to leave.

Martin returned his attention to the scene below just in time to see a small, brown figure climb down a trunk some distance away. His ears flattened.

It was Bramble. He approached the dryad king on his toes, with his hands clutching his ears. King Prickle sniffled a few times before looking up, but when he did, he yelped and jumped to his feet, throwing his twig into the air.

“Bramble! You rapscallion, you fiend, you leaf-shaker! How dare you approach your king as he sits on his throne? Bow, insolent little rodent!”

Bramble trembled from head to foot, which wasn’t much distance at all. “Bramble is sorry to disturb his sticky-majesty,” he squeaked, “but Bramble has come because Bramble has kept all of Bramble’s promises.”

“Bramble has done nothing of the sort,” said King Prickle.

“Bramble is...Bramble is sorry he shook the leaves.”

“Apology not accepted.” The king turned away.

A plump, round tear splashed down Bramble’s cheek.

“What’s this, then? Are you blubbering? Don’t be so childish! And while we’re at it, I’m not your friend anymore and I’ll never speak to you again.”

Bramble choked on a sob. “Bramble is sorry! Bramble has done everything he can to make up for what Bramble did. Bramble found a new bride, just like sticky-majesty wanted. Bramble lied and tricked, but Bramble did it because Bramble misses Bramble’s home. Mustn’t tell a lie, mustn’t tell a lie!”

“The new bride you brought wasn’t any good,” said King Prickle. “She hit me. And what’s more, she got away. Now I’m brideless and crownless and very, very upset. I’m starting to think no one loves me.”

“Oh dear. Bramble knows what that feels like. If sticky-majesty needs help, Bramble would be happy to be sticky-majesty’s friend.”

“Friend?” roared the king. “Foolish little dropping, you were my son, even if you were adopted. I named you and I fed you. And what did you do for me in return? You shook the leaves off my beautiful, beautiful queen, and now she’s gone, gone, gone, and I’m never going to find anyone to replace her!”

Bramble curled into a ball. “Bramble knows. Bramble is sorry. Bramble has tried so hard to do things right, but Bramble is miserable and cannot.” He threw himself at the king’s feet and hugged his leg with fierce desperation.

“Get off me,” said the king, and he kicked his shin up.

Bramble sailed through the air.

“Now leave me alone! I don’t have time for you. You had your chance, and I’m too hungry to deal with you. Come back with sliced melon, or better yet, don’t come back ever again! Get out of my throne room before I turn you into a stump for birds to poop on until you rot. Where’s my favorite scepter?”

With a sob and a wail, Bramble sped away on his stubby legs. Soon his cries faded.

Martin could hardly believe what he had just heard. All this trouble, everything that had happened to him and Elodie since that moment on the bridge...Bramble was to blame. He should have known. He shouldn’t have listened to the lies. Were he still a human, he would have chased Bramble down and pinned him to the ground until he confessed everything.

King Prickle sat back down and resumed drawing in the mud with his stick. “Miserable little beggars,” he said to himself. “Always popping in to ask for unreasonable favors. Can’t have it, no we can’t. Isn’t that right, my sweet queen?” The king put his arm around the closest tree.

Martin tried to quell the anger bubbling in his gut. The branch that fell on the bridge, their separation, the dryads...it was all starting to make sense, but there wasn’t a single thing Martin could do about it.

Copper and Wolf, restless and unaware of Martin’s turmoil, took off from the tree. Martin followed them back to the grotto, leaving King Prickle alone with his musings. If the dryad heard them leave, he ignored them.

Back by the pool in the grotto, Copper and Wolf tore into the pheasant. When they had eaten their fill they tossed what little remained of the carcass in Martin’s direction. Martin poked at the bird with a claw. He was hungry enough not to care anymore, so he ate. It didn’t taste as bad as he expected it to, but he swallowed large chunks as quickly as possible just in case. Then he did the only thing he could think of to do. He lay under the rock at the back of the grotto and stared at the ground.

* * *

The girl named Illo and the stubby man named Podgin helped Elodie stagger to their cottage in the woods, which, to Elodie’s relief, wasn’t far from where they found her at the bottom of the bank. Elodie blacked out a couple times on the way, but Illo and Podgin put her arms over their shoulders to prop her up. Each step sent a line of fire up her spine.

They crossed a shallow brook that cut through the clearing in front of the cottage. The door and windows were shut.

“We’re the first ones back,” said Podgin.

“Never mind that now,” Illo replied. “Let’s get her inside. She’s really hurt.”

They pulled Elodie through the doorway into the cottage’s main room and helped her to a chair. Elodie sat with a groan. She leaned forward to rest her forehead on the table, trying to keep her back as straight as possible. Illo opened all the shutters to light up the room while Podgin banged around the cupboards for rags and buckets. Elodie wanted answers, but anything she said came out as a hoarse rasp.

Illo grabbed a bucket and ran outside to the brook, then charged back in, sloshing water all over the floor. Podgin hurried right through the puddle with a stack of folded rags in his arms. He slapped them on the table. Illo dumped water into a wooden cup and pushed it into Elodie’s hands.

“Drink this before you croak yourself to death.”

Elodie sat up straight, but her back flared. She groaned again. The cup clattered to the floor. She shook her head.

“It’s okay,” said Illo. “Podgin will clean that up. Try again, slowly this time.”

Elodie had more success on the second attempt. She took a cautious sip first, then downed the whole cup in two gulps. She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, working it back to life. “Thank you.”

Illo took the cup back. She pulled up a chair and sat in front of Elodie. “Don’t mention it. So...we know who you are, but you have no idea who we are, do you?”

Elodie shook her head weakly. “I heard your names, but that’s all. Is Martin here?”

Illo and Podgin shared quizzical looks.

“How do you know we know Martin?” Illo asked.

“I was supposed to find him on this side of the river. Is he here?”

“That’s not an easy question to answer,” said Illo. “Long story short, no, he’s not here. He was until last night.” She paused. “This should really wait until we’ve tended to your back. I’m not a doctor, but those scratches look nasty. What happened to you?”

Elodie let her head drop back on the table. “That’s a long story too.”

“We know most of it,” offered Podgin.

“Right,” said Illo. “Martin and the rest of us have been chasing after you ever since the dryads took you. We know what happened in the palace, and we know you crossed to the north side of the Minnowchuck River sometime yesterday. That’s where we lost you.”

“He’s been with you the whole time?”

Illo nodded. “But he snuck out last night. I don’t know what he hoped to accomplish in the dark, but he hasn’t come back.”

Another painful tremor seized Elodie’s back.

Illo circled around behind her. “Be a darling, Podgin, and turn away for a minute.” She gingerly peeled away the slashed sections of dryad dress. “Yikes. Nasty was an understatement. What got you, a boar with knives for tusks?”

“Trunders,” said Elodie. She figured she should save her breath and tell them about Nayadu later when she wasn’t in excruciating pain.

“Trunders? Never heard of those. Podgin, remind me to send you to fetch that old book when I get a chance.”

Podgin kept his back turned. “Forest Flora and Fauna, from—?”

“Yes, that one,” said Illo. “But first things first.” She took a deep breath. “That’s a lot of blood. I’m terrible at this. Fella, my older sister, always fixes cuts and stuff, but she’s still out looking for Martin. Luckily for you, I don’t think we’ll need to sew you up. I’m just going to wash out the cuts. Try not to thrash around.”

Illo dipped a rag in the water bucket and wrung it out. She dabbed blood from Elodie’s skin around the cuts. Each touch of the rag stung like a hundred bees, but Elodie gripped the tabletop with her fingers, refusing to complain.

“And I thought sting finches were bad,” said Illo. She switched to a clean rag.

She was about to put the fresh cloth to Elodie’s back when the cottage door kicked open. Elodie swiveled her head as much as she could. A girl with dark hair and tired eyes hobbled in first, followed by a lynx with golden wings. Elodie recognized him right away as the cat who had tried to seize her from the dryads. She lacked the energy to show her surprise.

“Fella!” Illo dropped the rag and threw her arms around the girl’s neck. “I ought to smack you. Why didn’t you come back?”

The dark-haired girl kissed Illo on the forehead. “I know, I’m sorry. I was still north of the river when the rain hit. It threw me off course, and I thought it best to wait until morning to find a place to cross back over. Aguilax met up with me not far from the brook. He already told me about Martin. I had no idea.”

The winged lynx trotted by with his head up.

Fella closed the door and looked Elodie up and down with an unreadable expression. “Looks like I’ve missed some excitement around here. You must be Elodie.”

“Yes, she is. Podgin and I were looping around the area,” said Illo, gesturing wildly. “Just to pass the time, you see. I knew you’d be back eventually. That’s when we spotted her, buried in leaves at the bottom of the mound I slipped down that one time, remember? We practically had to carry her back, though.”

“Isn’t it ironic?” said the lynx, Aguilax. “One slips away while the other lands on our doorstep.”

“You’d better take a look at her, Fella.” Illo stepped aside. “She’s scratched up pretty good.”

Fella sank into a chair beside Elodie. She placed gentle fingertips on her shoulders. “You poor girl. Trunders did this to you.”

Elodie nodded her head feebly.

“That’s what she told us,” said Illo. “What are trunders? I was going to send Podgin for the old reference journal before you got here.”

“Trunders are one of the reasons why we stay on this side of the Minnowchuck,” said Fella. “They’re vicious hunters with wings, teeth, bad tempers, and an awful smell.”

“Oh. So...you probably wouldn’t be too thrilled if I told you I came face to face with one right outside the cottage early this morning.”

Fella stopped with a rag half-wrung in her hands. “No,” she said slowly. “That’s not the sort of news I hoped to hear.”

“I had an arrow ready, but the animal got away. Podgin messed up my shot.”

“Pardon me for trying to help,” said Podgin from his corner. “I’m just waiting for someone to tell me I can turn around. I feel terribly excluded.”

Ignoring him, Illo came back to Elodie’s side. “Can you fix her?”

“The scratches aren’t deep,” said Fella. “Podgin, you can light a fire and boil water. As long as the wounds don’t get infected, she’ll be fine. Go to my room, Illo, and grab clean bandages from the box under my bed.”

Podgin got to work and Illo scampered to do as she was told.

“Don’t worry,” Fella said to Elodie. “You’re safe here. We’ll take care of you.”

Illo ran back with the bandages.

“Martin was supposed to be here,” said Elodie. Her voice still sounded weak. “She said I’d find him on this side of the river.”

“Who did?” asked Illo.

Elodie tried to shift her position, but Fella held her in place. “Nayadu told me.”

The cottage fell momentarily silent.

“I didn’t think you’d lost that much blood,” said Illo. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“I’m not delirious,” Elodie protested. “Nayadu found me during the night, and she promised to take me to Martin. That’s when the trunders attacked us. I wouldn’t have gotten away if she hadn’t fought them off. Right before I ran, she told me to go straight south and that people would be looking for me on this side of the river. I’m not lying!”

“No one’s saying you’re lying,” said Fella in a calm voice.

“That old morpher never comes out of hiding.” Illo folded her arms. “And if she does, it’s certainly not to help random people. Morphers are monsters.”

“That’s what the dryads thought, too,” said Elodie. “They were wrong. I spent time with Nayadu. She wasn’t—”

“This isn’t the time for an argument,” said Fella. “Illo, you shouldn’t speak so hastily about matters you don’t fully understand. Let’s focus on what needs to be done now. We’ll have plenty of time for talking later.”

Podgin got the fire blazing. He hung a small pot full of water above the flames. The water boiled in no time. Fresh, steaming rags at the ready, Fella got to work. Her motions were softer and more precise than Illo’s, but Elodie’s back smarted either way. While Fella cleaned dirt and sweat from the scratches, Illo put on another pot to boil. In a few minutes she passed around mugs of tea. She placed one on the table next to Elodie. Aguilax went outside for what he called a well-earned nap. Podgin slipped out after him with a parting sneeze.

Once the room had cleared and she had finished with the rags, Fella helped Elodie out of the ruined dryad dress. She wound bandages around Elodie’s torso to protect the tender scratches. Illo dug up clean clothes for her. She brought warm socks that rolled up to her knees, comfortable brown pants, which Elodie had to cinch at her waist, and a green shirt that fit loosely over the bandages.

“I can’t find that extra pair of shoes,” said Illo. “But I’m sure someone won’t mind scrubbing down your old ones. Oh, and the right shoe needs a new lace.”

“Good idea,” said Fella. “Why don’t you take care of that for her?”

Illo stuck her bottom lip out. She grabbed Elodie’s shoes and headed outside.

Podgin returned shortly thereafter. A leather satchel hung over his shoulder, and from it he hauled a book twice as thick as any of the volumes in Mayor Clarenbald’s collection.

He placed the book on the table and wiped his hands on his beard. “So dusty. Illo can read up on the beasties whenever she pleases. I’m too hungry for knowledge.”

Fella dropped the used rags in the bucket. “I’ll give you free reign in the kitchen if you make plenty for the rest of us.”

Podgin let out a long sigh. “If I must.”

“Thank you, Podgin. You’ve been a great help. What would we do without you?”

Podgin’s nose went red, but he cheered up enough to whistle on his way to the pantry.

Elodie tested her legs. She could walk, but it hurt. “Thank you, Fella,” she said. “I’m glad Martin came across people like you.”

Fella gave her a warm smile. “He’ll be back, I have no doubt, and he’d flip a table if he walked in the door and found you the way we did. Keeping you healthy is in everyone’s best interest.” She winked. “There’s a spare room next to mine. You need to recover. At least one of us will stay nearby at all times, but rest as long as you want.”

Fella took the bucket of rags outside, leaving Elodie alone in the main chamber. Elodie eased past the kitchen, where Podgin muttered at a potato, and slipped into the room Fella had indicated.

The room was plain. A low window opened to the forest, and a stool squatted next to a double bed. A small, round object gleamed in the sunlight on the stool. Her heart twisted as she picked it up. It was Martin’s brass ring, the one she had given him on the bridge. Elodie put the ring on her finger and held it close to her chest.

Elodie stretched out on her stomach. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, a different sort of exhaustion from what she had experienced in the forest. Her body hurt from head to toe, but she was warm, bandaged, and for the first time since waking up tied to a tree by the river, she could sleep without fear of waking up to some new form of danger.

The gentle rustle of branches outside the window blended with a distant conversation between Illo and Aguilax and lulled her into a dreamless, fearless, blissful sleep.

Elodie reluctantly pulled out of her sleep a few hours later. The first thing she heard was a gurgle where her stomach demanded attention, then soft voices from the main room. Elodie got off the bed. The motions stretched her stiff back, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t tolerate.

She found the others sitting around the table near the hearth. Illo methodically cleaned her bow with while Fella rested her head on Illo’s shoulder. The elder sister looked even more worn out than when she arrived. Across from them, Podgin finished off a buttered roll with his feet propped up on the table. He licked his fingers clean and then eyed the kitchen for more. Aguilax lay curled at the far end of the table, his stubby tail flicking back and forth.

“Have a seat, Elodie,” said Fella.

Elodie claimed an empty chair. “Any sign of him?”

Fella shook her head. “Not yet. Aguilax flew around again while you slept, but since we have no clue what direction he went off in...”

Elodie fell silent. Podgin grunted and made for the cupboard. Illo jumped after him. She slapped his hand away from a jar of honey and set about preparing a tray of food he had made earlier. While she worked, Fella told Elodie everything that had happened since Illo found Martin in her bog boar trap. Both Illo and Podgin butted in to contribute portions of the story.

“I had no idea he was so close behind,” said Elodie. “Now he’s gone and I’m the one stuck here.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” said Illo. “You were smart to get far away from the dryads. Not crossing the Minnowchuck would’ve saved you a few lacerations, but hey, you didn’t know any better.”

She set the tray on the table. There were fresh rolls, which she kept well out of Podgin’s reach, and the honey jar to go with butter, portions of meat that looked something like turkey, and a clay pitcher of water with wild mint leaves.

Between bites of food—Elodie exercised great restraint by not shoveling the whole tray into her mouth at once—she filled in the gaps of her own story. They already knew most of it, since they had been on her trail from the beginning, and she skipped the most unpleasant parts. She told them in greater detail how Nayadu found her and watched over her throughout the night, and even Podgin paused with a slice of meat halfway to his mouth when she recounted their flight from the trunders.

“I guess that makes some sense,” said Aguilax. “The morpher wanted to save her own skin, and you happened to be with her. That still doesn’t mean she’s not a dangerous beast herself. Next time, I recommend you run from her as fast as you can.”

“Right, because forest forbid a morpher turn into something fast, like an ostrich,” said Podgin.

Illo choked on a bite of bread. Elodie didn’t understand their incredulity, but she didn’t insist on the matter. She knew the truth.

“We should be more concerned about the trunders,” said Fella.

“Why? They never hunt past the river,” said Aguilax. “Elodie’s misfortune was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Illo plucked her bowstring. “Don’t forget, Podgin and I saw a trunder just over the brook. It sure didn’t act aggressive, but then again, I’m pretty intimidating.”

Podgin rolled his eyes.

“I agree with Fella,” said Elodie. “I’m worried about Martin, though, not us. I feel safe here, but he’s on his own in the wilderness just like I was.” Under the table, she toyed with the brass ring. “I want to look for him.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Fella. “Those cuts need to heal properly. The bandages won’t help at all if you run around and tear yourself loose.”

“Besides, none of us know where he went,” said Illo. “I hate to say it, but the best thing to do right now is wait. Martin’s a bit thick, but not totally senseless.”

“That’s not to say there’s nothing we can do about it.” Fella hunched over the table. “Aguilax, I want you to fly to the dryad palace. General Tum has a decent head on his shoulders. Ask him to keep his soldiers alert in the woods and to send word if they hear of Martin’s whereabouts. Podgin, I know you miss your oven, but we could really use your help around here until the dust settles.”

Podgin slouched in his chair so that his nose quivered at table-level. “As long as no one yells at me or calls me names. And I’ve changed my mind about the spade. I want to hold those truffles by my ear and listen to their sweet melody.”

Illo stuck her tongue out in disgust.

“Illo, you and I will keep an eye on the woods around here. Don’t leave the cottage without your bow, not with trunders roaming around. And remember…”

“If it’s bigger than me, don’t fight it alone. If I don’t know what it is, don’t kill it without asking questions. I know, I know.”

Fella smiled. “And if you have to shoot...”

“Shoot straight. When do I ever not?” She grabbed her bow and quiver and was halfway up an oak before the door swung shut.

Podgin got to work clearing the table, and Aguilax hopped out the window.

“As for you, Elodie,” said Fella, “I need you to trust us and to be patient. I’ll make sure you and Martin get back together safe and sound. I promise.”

* * *

The rest of the day stretched on and on as Elodie waited for news. Though her head shot up every time the door opened, she did her best not to pester the others with questions. She already knew what answers to expect.

Aguilax came back from the dryad palace with a promise from Tum to keep an eye on the woods around their island. Illo spent most of the afternoon and evening in the trees, and Podgin snoozed by the fireplace whenever Fella didn’t need help from him.

During one of her breaks, Illo sat at the table and flipped through the pages of Forest Flora and Fauna, from Floodweed to Fanged Fledglings, the book Podgin had brought from his house. Podgin joined her, kneeling on a chair to see. Elodie watched them glue their noses to the old pages until they waved her over.

Illo had the tome open to a page near the back. “Look, I found it.”

The sketch on the page was rough, but Elodie recognized the trunder right away. Its snout hung low to the ground, and its wings stretched out, ready for flight.

Elodie looked away. “I’ve seen too much of them already.”

“Forget bog boar,” said Illo. “Can you imagine how thrilling it must be to hunt one of these? There’s not much written about them, though. I’m not surprised. It’s hard to learn stuff about an animal that’ll attack pretty much anything.”

Aguilax lifted his head from the corner. “What savages.”

“Hold on, here’s something interesting,” said Illo. “Trunders inject a toxin into their prey when they bite. I wonder why, when they can just rip—”

She caught Elodie’s raised eyebrows and shut her mouth.

Elodie retired to her room when the sun set. She tried to sleep on her back, but the pressure was too much even with the layer of bandages. By breakfast the next morning, her wound had stiffened so much that she couldn’t get out of bed by herself, and Fella had to help her stand up. Elodie trudged through her second day in the cottage at the same discouraging rate as her first.

On the third day, however, she could walk around without triggering any bouts of pain. Fella checked the wound to make sure it wasn’t infected and to change the bandages. By the afternoon, Elodie’s back only hurt when she stretched too far or made sudden motions, and on the morning of the fourth day she felt ready to tear the forest apart and drag Martin back by his toes.

Elodie knew she would shrivel up like a cherry in the sun if she constantly worried, so she found ways to pass the time and keep her mind occupied.

Illo became her main source of companionship. When not scouting the forest around the cottage, she made sure Elodie had something to do. She tried to teach her to shoot arrows until, on their second morning of practice, one of Elodie’s arrows flew wide and whizzed right past Podgin, who had wandered into their target area on a truffle mission.

“You almost got him,” said Illo. “You should keep practicing!”

Elodie graciously declined. Inasmuch as her back allowed, she helped Fella weed the garden behind the cottage where potatoes, rhubarb, green onions, and a couple rows of herbs grew. She also suffered through Podgin’s monologues about edible mushrooms, and how portabellas were better than white buttons even though they were harder to find.

The fifth day rolled around, and there was still no news about Martin. Aguilax spent more and more time searching without anyone asking him to. Elodie suspected the lynx had noticed her frequent sighs and glances at the door. Illo started to go with him as well. She ran through the trees almost as fast as the lynx flew.

Halfway through the day, the cottage eased into silence. Aguilax had gone out to hunt for himself, and Illo was up an oak somewhere. Fella and Podgin were both resting, she in her room with the door shut and he under the table with an empty basket tucked under his head.

Elodie didn’t want to sit around by herself. The sun was bright and warm outside, and the scent of blooms permeated the forest. It reminded her of spring days when she and Martin shared secrets in the orchard. A walk seemed the best thing to keep herself busy until the others came back or woke up, so she slipped on her clean courier shoes.

She stood by the brook for a minute, enjoying the sun on her face. Then, not wanting to be spotted, she hurried away. She eased up when the cottage was out of sight. It felt good to put her muscles to use.

Elodie rolled up her sleeves and pant legs, and even considered kicking off her shoes. She walked slowly, taking in as many colorful details as she could: sparrows with crimson wings hopped in the brush, a handful of golden butterflies bobbed past her head, and best of all, she found a small glade where little orange flowers grew in thick clusters. Elodie sat among the flowers. It wasn’t clover like the fields, but the glade reminded her of good times.

She thought of Nayadu. Surely she had escaped the trunders unharmed, but what then? Was Nayadu watching her right now, disguised as a bird or an insect? Even if she couldn’t see her, knowing that Nayadu watched out for people in the woods ebbed her worry over Martin. She just wished the others would open their minds.

Content to stay in the glade, Elodie got comfortable on her side and let her mind drift. She began to doze off. Then she snapped out of her drowsiness. Branches shifted above her, and a quick shadow moved along the edge of the glade.

Elodie sat up. “You might as well come down and join me.”

Illo dropped from a tree. “I didn’t think you’d realize I was here.”

“I work for the mayor. Everyone’s always sneaking up on everyone else. I think I’ve developed an extra sense. Want to sit?”

“I should keep on the lookout. And I wasn’t sneaking.”

Elodie patted the ground next to her. “No one’s going to die if you relax for ten minutes.”

Illo dropped her bow and quiver full of arrows. “Aren’t you the one worrying your socks off?”

“I am,” said Elodie. “But I’ve been trying not to let it get the best of me. I guess I don’t feel so anxious today. That’s good, right?”

“Sure.” Illo plopped down next to her. Within a minute she was fidgeting with blades of grass, twirling them between her fingers. “I don’t see how you can sit still for so long. What do you do?”

“Depends. Sometimes I think about life and what I want to do in the next two years. Other times I plan how to sneak oranges out of the mayor’s study.”

“What about this time?”

Elodie looked around. “This glade reminds me of the fields back home,” said Elodie. “I was going over good memories.”

“About him?”

“Some of them.” She grinned. “Okay, a lot of them.”

Illo plucked a handful of flowers and twined the stems together into a miniature wreath. “You’re stronger than I thought you’d be. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I were in your skin.”

“It’s hard not to cave in, but I have faith in him. Besides, he’d better be alright, because if anything or anyone hurts him, I’ll rip them apart.”

Illo’s fingers stopped fiddling. “You didn’t strike me as the kind of person to say things like that.”

“You didn’t strike me as the kind of person who makes flower wreaths.”

“Fair enough.” Illo picked more flowers to twist together. “When I found Martin, he was floundering around in my pit. I called him a trout because he looked a little pathetic.”

Elodie couldn’t hold back a laugh. “You called him a trout?”

“And more. I’ve been hard on him. More than I should have. At first I only helped him look for you because Fella made me. When push comes to shove, I have to do what she says. She’s the oldest, you know. But Martin’s arm kept getting us in trouble, and I thought babysitting him was just a waste of my time. I...I haven’t told anyone, but I’m worried he took off on his own because of me.”

“I don’t think he would do that,” said Elodie. “You said it yourself, he can be thick, but not totally senseless. If I know Martin, he left because he thought he found a way to make things right on his own, not because of anything you said, but because he’s proud, and he knows his arm sometimes makes him a burden.”

“You’re honest about him,” said Illo.

“I can’t expect him to be perfect, can I?”

Illo slid her finished wreath over her hand. “I just hope one of his episodes hasn’t knocked him out in some ditch.”

Elodie frowned. “What do you mean, his episodes?”

“You know, the way his arm suddenly burns with pain, and he falls to the ground and goes all stiff and can’t move or talk or hear or anything.”

“What? That’s never happened to him before! He used to complain about his arm itching under the skin, but I always assumed he was making it up for attention.”

“I’m sorry,” said Illo. “I figured you knew.”

Elodie stood abruptly, ignoring the twinge in her back. “No. No, this isn’t right. He needs me. I can’t stay here. I have to be there for him!”

“But Fella—”

“I don’t care what Fella says,” Elodie snapped. “It’s been five days since that trunder showed up.”

“Okay, how will you find him? Where will you start?”

Elodie stopped with her mouth open. “I don’t know.”

Illo put a hand on her arm. “Aguilax is doing the best he can. You have to trust Fella. She’s protecting you from more than just trunders, you know. There are bog boars and anklesnatchers and sage vipers, just to name a few.”

Elodie sniffled. “You just made those up.”

“Trust me, I didn’t.” Illo pulled back her collar. Two small, white dots marred the skin under her collarbone. Elodie didn’t have to live in the forest to recognize them as bite scars.

“Why do you stay here, if it’s so dangerous?”

Illo looked up at the trees. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

Elodie didn’t know what else to say. “I know you’re right. I didn’t mean to blow up like that.”

Illo stood and wiped grass from her pants. “I understand. We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

“That’s what Fella said.”

“And Fella always keeps her promises. Come on, let’s head back. We’ve been gone long enough for Podgin’s beard to grow another inch.”

When they made it back to the cottage, they found the three others had reconvened in their absence.

Fella looked none too pleased to see Elodie walk through the door. “You were supposed to stay near the house,” she said. “I thought we made that clear.”

“I was near the house,” Elodie protested. “At least, I think I was. I just wanted to stretch my legs.”

“It’s okay,” said Illo. “I was watching her the whole time. She was perfectly safe.”

Elodie turned on her. “The whole time?”

Illo shrugged sheepishly.

Fella gathered them all in the main chamber. Elodie sat in her usual chair while Illo put water on to boil. Aguilax yawned, stretching his wings. Podgin sneezed. Nobody had much energy.

“Aguilax just got back from another visit to the dryad palace,” said Fella. “We were waiting for you two.”

“Well?” said Elodie. “What did you find out?”

“Tum and his three underlings had news, for certain.” Aguilax jumped onto an empty chair. “Nothing about Martin, I’m afraid. And what they did say, while not necessarily new to us, is reason for concern. Trunders are coming out of their dank holes and crossing the Minnowchuck more and more these days. One of Tum’s soldiers saw two of them less than a mile from the lake.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” said Illo. “Animals move around in the forest all the time. Food gets scarce, and habitats change. If another trunder gets too close, I’ll shoot it down. No problem.”

“Things are happening too quickly for this all to be a coincidence,” said Fella. “Think about it. Two outsiders land in the forest, the dryads are making mischief, people go missing every time we blink, and now trunders are coming out of their dens in broad daylight.”

“Don’t forget about Nayadu,” said Podgin with a snicker.

Elodie and Illo shot looks at him.

“There’s one more piece of the puzzle you’re leaving out,” said Illo. “Bramble.”

The room went quiet and heads turned down, as if she had broached a subject they had all been trying to forget about.

“Who’s Bramble?” Elodie asked.

“A sneaky little miscreant with floppy ears and a floppy brain,” Illo explained. “He’s a coward and a weasel, and he knows it. He’s shown up far too often as of late for us to assume he’s not up to something.”

“I don’t know if I would take it that far,” said Aguilax. “But one thing’s for sure. When Bramble gets an idea, trouble follows. Martin struck up a bit of a friendship with the poor creature when he first wandered into the woods.”

Illo’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think they found each other by chance. Bramble’s too devious for that. I think he was waiting for Martin all along.”

“Based on assumptions,” said Fella.

“But you’re not saying I’m wrong.”

“I’m saying we have enough trouble on our hands without dragging Bramble into the mix just because he tends to trip over his own feet. Let’s keep our job simple. Wait for word from the dryads and keep sending Aguilax out to comb the woods. Perhaps the trunder trouble will pass. Until we know for sure, no one goes into the woods alone.”

That ended the discussion, and they all dispersed.

Elodie didn’t think the conversation had gotten them any closer to conclusions. Her head ached. She resolved not to gripe about Hergelo Stump or running dull errands for Mayor Clarenbald ever again.

* * *

Martin stayed in the grotto after his discovery of Bramble and King Prickle. Copper and Wolf came and went on their own. They no longer tried to coax Martin off the slate bed, but they hadn’t abandoned him either. The two of them passed the time splashing in the pool and stretching out in the sun at the water’s edge. They left the grotto at least once a day to hunt. Sometimes they brought back bird or rodent carcasses for Martin to chew on, a practice he reluctantly adopted.

More often than not, however, Copper and Wolf came back empty handed. On those occasions they joined Martin in the shade and commiserated through whimpers and yawns.

A new source of apprehension crept into Martin’s mind like a bug. As the days and nights inched by, he noticed a change in himself. At first it was just in the little things, like figuring out the best way to fold his wings at night or improved vision in the dark. But then it got worse. Copper and Wolf smelled less and less like old meat, and Martin didn’t gag on the carcasses they brought back anymore. The change to his body had happened in one agonizing moment, but the change to his mind was only beginning, and Martin feared losing his grip on himself altogether.

A voice in his head urged him to seek help. At first, he ignored it. No one could help him anymore, and he lacked the courage to try. But on the morning of his third day in the grotto, Martin surrendered to the voice. He rose from his slate bed, his claws clicking on the stone. There was only one place to go, and if he didn’t start now, he was bound to lose his resolve.

Copper and Wolf lifted their heads as Martin strode by them. At the end of the trench, he looked back. They were following him. Martin lowered his head and snarled.

Copper’s tongue hung out of her mouth as she panted contentedly. Wolf craned his neck to lick at his torn wing. Neither of them left. Martin took a few bounds outside the trench, but when he checked, they were both right behind him. He flattened his ears. It was pointless. They didn’t budge.

Frustrated, Martin slunk back into the grotto. Once again, Copper and Wolf invited him to join their games in the water, and once again he refused. He faced the wall and felt sorry for himself.

Martin didn’t try again until the woods got dark. Copper and Wolf often hunted at night, and he anxiously waited for them to leave. They didn’t. When the sun set and the grotto cooled, they hunkered down in their respective spots on the other side of the pool. Martin waited still. At last he saw Copper’s side slowly rise and fall, and Wolf’s breath whistled in and out of his nostrils.

He took his chance. The waterfall drowned out any sound he might have made, and he made it to the mouth of the trench without waking them. His heart accelerated against his ribs as he loped away.

Martin decided not to fly. He was comfortable in the air by now, but the thought of exposing himself to the world above the treetops was more than he wanted to deal with tonight.

Even with his enhanced nocturnal vision, Martin took a while to find the Minnowchuck, and when he finally heard the rush of water and came through the trees to the bank, he found himself on a stretch of the river that he didn’t recognize. Staying on the north bank, he explored upriver, searching for a familiar bend or even a scent to follow.

He found something entirely different. An orange light flickered in the trees on the opposite bank up the river. Martin slowed, testing the air. He smelled wood and smoke, along with a new scent he couldn’t identify. Keeping his belly close to the ground, Martin slipped into the river. Human Martin would have drowned five feet from the bank, but animal Martin swam with ease. Dripping wet from his toes to his jaw, he scaled the south bank and crept closer to the fire.

Martin thought back to his first hunt with Copper and Wolf. He jumped into an oak and approached the glowing light from branch to branch until he stopped over a small clearing among the trees.

A fire kindled in a ring of stones away from the trees, and around the fire sat five dryad soldiers with their spears strewn about the ground. The firelight glinted off their stern eyes. They watched the woods warily, turning towards the river every now and then. A horn-shaped basket of food sat in the grass between two of them. A conversation flowed around the fire, but before Martin could sneak closer to listen, one of the dryads elbowed his companions and pointed to the trees.

Martin froze in the shadows. Once again, his scent was giving him away. He was so used to it, he had almost forgotten how potent it could get.

The dryad soldiers leaped to their feet and grabbed their spears. They formed a half circle with their backs to the fire, facing the forest in all the wrong directions.

Martin dropped to a lower branch, itching to know what the dryads were saying. The shortest dryad in the line twisted around to reach for the food basket and stopped. He pulled his companions around.

“Look, in that tree. See the eyes? There it is!”

The soldiers shouted war cries. A spear sank into the branch under Martin’s paws, driving him back into the shelter of the oak.

“We must alert General Tum,” yelled a dryad.

While the soldiers scrambled to recover their weapons, Martin made his getaway. This time he flew across the river. He landed on the north bank and hid in the trees. The dryads didn’t give chase, but someone put the fire out, and he lost sight of them.

Martin returned to the grotto, where Copper and Wolf hadn’t budged. He let his chin drop between his paws. Going at night had been a bad idea. During the day he was a gnarly beast, but in the dark he was worse—a putrid shadow, a pair of hungry eyes in the trees. Then again, everyone and everything found him repulsive either way. He simply couldn’t win.

In the morning, Copper and Wolf were gone. Hunger pinched Martin’s stomach. For a while he waited, hoping they would bring back food, but the urge to find help hit him again, and this time he didn’t resist it. Now was as good a time as any.

He left the trench and headed west, just in case Copper and Wolf showed up unexpectedly. Then, satisfied he was alone, he veered south. He came to the Minnowchuck close to where he had crossed on the first morning after his transformation.

Martin submerged himself in the swift river and let the current beat against him as long as he could hold his breath. The water would curb his scent, at least for a little bit. On the south bank, a startling sense of instinct plotted a map in his mind. He headed south. He kept his nose and ears alert for dryads or humans. For now, however, the woods were calm.

The closer Martin got to the cottage, the slower he moved. He was driven by a longing for help, not any specific plan. He had no idea what he would find at the cottage. Perhaps Illo, ready with more arrows. Perhaps nobody at all. Perhaps Elodie. Out of all the possibilities, he feared the latter most.

Chimney smoke floated out of the trees up ahead, just as it had the first time he came as an animal. The familiarity set his heart pounding. For the first time since leaving the grotto, he was tempted to turn back while he still could. Unless the river water worked better than he anticipated, anyone in the cottage would be able to smell him soon.

Martin took to the trees. It was fairly pointless, he knew, but at least they wouldn’t see him so easily. Limb to limb, oak to oak, he ventured closer. He stopped above the cottage. No one sat outside this time. The door was closed, the lamps unlit. Maybe, just maybe, no one was home.

Something moved behind him. He spun around, teeth bared, a drum in his chest. Illo would be right behind him, her bow raised, and he would have to fight or flee—Martin froze on the branch.

Copper and Wolf sat in his tree, watching him with bright eyes. Martin dug his claws into the wood and put his fangs on full display. This was bad. They had to get out of there, before...

The cottage door opened.

Dread turned Martin’s stomach to hot lead. Copper and Wolf were hunting, and he, none the wiser, had led them straight to fresh prey.

Martin craned his neck over his trembling shoulder. A girl backed out of the cottage with a heavy bucket swinging from her hands. Forest-colored clothes, straight, yellow hair.

Copper inched forward. Wolf’s muscles tensed.

The door swung shut, and the girl turned. Martin’s heart shattered like glass.

Elodie.

11. Predator and Prey

Breakfast teetered on the brink of disaster. Podgin got distracted tasting chanterelles from his basket and let the frying potato slices burn over the fire in the kitchen. Fella ran through the rooms, opening all the windows, and Illo dumped the charred contents of the pan into the ash bucket, singeing her hand in the process. Aguilax chided Podgin for his carelessness, and Podgin rubbed his beard, bemoaning his potato losses. That left Elodie to take the smoldering ash bucket outside before the whole cottage became a smokehouse.

The moment the door shut, Elodie knew something was wrong. Instead of the fresh air her lungs needed, she inhaled a noxious gulp of dead animal smell. She turned in a slow circle, peering through the leaves. Nothing moved, and she heard no wings, yet each breath she took curdled her insides. A tingle between her shoulder blades told her the trunder was close. Her fingers tightened around the bucket handle.

She whirled around at a thud to her right. Her breath caught in her chest. There it stood in the shade under the trees. The beast was black as soot, with a torn wing and an open maw. A second trunder, smaller and red, dropped from the boughs, followed by a third with wet fur the color of mud.

Elodie inched toward the door, not daring to turn her back. She didn’t call for the others. She doubted they would even hear her over all the commotion in the kitchen.

The red trunder shot across the clearing. For the span of a breath, shock rooted Elodie in place. Then she reacted. She hurled the contents of her bucket at the charging trunder. A cloud of ash and burnt potato wedges burst in the animal’s eyes. Blinded, the trunder yowled—that was sure to get the others’ attention—and slid into the brook.

The black brute didn’t hesitate. It closed the distance with thundering bounds. Elodie dropped her bucket and sprinted to the door. She plowed through, spilling onto the floor inside. Even as she heard alarmed shouts and pounding footsteps from the kitchen, Elodie scrambled to her knees. She caught a glimpse of black jaws and yellow teeth before she shut the door and slammed the bolt in place.

The door shuddered under the weight of a heavy collision, then everything went quiet.

Elodie stayed on her knees, panting for breath. Her shoulder felt bruised and the scabs on her back stung with cold sweat. A moment later, Fella and Illo clattered into the big room. Aguilax and Podgin weren’t far behind.

“Close the windows, quick,” Elodie gasped. “Trunders, they’re here, in the clearing, three of them. They almost—I lost the bucket.”

Fella ran to shut the windows she had just opened.

Podgin’s face turned a sickly white behind his beard. “Good gravy gullets, why didn’t we smell them coming?”

“Because we’re swimming in charcoal fumes, that’s why,” said Illo. She grabbed her bow, which leaned on the wall by the door. “I can pick them off from the windows.” She cracked a shutter open and lowered her voice to a hiss. “I don’t see anything.”

Claws scraped outside the door. Elodie yelped and jumped away. They all paused, listening, but nothing else happened. Fella put a finger to her lips and motioned for them to draw away from the door. Illo held her arrow on the string, and Fella grabbed a poker from the hearth. Aguilax stood as taut as a harp string at Elodie’s knee. Even Podgin grabbed the potato pan from the kitchen, clutching it in his shaking, sooty fists like a club.

A thud on the thatch roof. Dust fell from the timbers. Claws scratched. Then came a ferocious growl as another trunder landed on the thatching. All eyes turned up as what sounded like a fight broke out between the two animals.

“Kind of makes you feel like a choice fish in a pond, doesn’t it?” Aguilax muttered.

“We’re trapped,” said Elodie. “It won’t take them long to break through the roof once they figure out who gets to go first.”

“Everybody get back,” said Fella. “Up against the wall. They’ll have to come at us one at a time in here. If they come in through the roof, leave the door closed and go out the window. Run to Podgin’s hole. It’ll be easier to defend ourselves there if they chase us.”

“Which they will,” said Illo under her breath.

The scuffle on the roof ended. One of the trunders leaped—or fell—off the thatching, but the remaining animal tore at the dry straw with renewed vigor.

Elodie bit her lip as more dust floated to the ground. The timbers rattled and broke. Shafts of light poked through the cracks. Soon the trunder tore a hole all the way through, wide enough to stick its ugly face in. It was the black one.

Elodie pressed her back against the wall. She was the only one without a weapon of some sort, and she didn’t like it. She scanned the room and saw the dryad spear leaning by the door. She made a dash for it.

Fella tried to grab her arm. “Elodie, wait!”

The window shutters splintered into a dozen pieces. Elodie pitched forward. Her knee banged against the table leg, but she dived to snatch the spear. The red trunder pushed through the broken window and crouched on the table, shaking splinters from its face and neck.

Podgin squealed like a piglet and swung his pan wildly even though he stood a good five feet from the table. Illo loosed her arrow, but the cramped quarters thwarted her aim. Her shaft bounced off the wall.

Above the pandemonium, the black trunder kept clawing its way through the roof. The brown trunder was nowhere in sight, but Elodie knew it was only a matter of time before all three were at their throats.

Fella was the only one to keep her cool. She whacked at the red trunder’s paws with her poker, driving it off the table. Elodie understood what Fella wanted to do. She jumped to her side, brandishing the dryad spear with all the fury she could muster. One step at a time, she and Fella forced the beast to circle around the room.

Then, when the path to the window was clear, Fella shouted to the others. “Stop fighting it! The window, quick. Get out!”

Illo grabbed Podgin by the collar and heaved him over the windowsill. She climbed out after him, then pulled Elodie up while Fella and Aguilax kept the trunder away. Elodie looked around. Still no sign of the brown trunder, though it might have circled around to the other windows.

Illo drew another arrow and spread her feet. She swiveled back and forth between the roof and the woods.

Inside, Aguilax finally had room enough to fight. His ears lay flat, the fur on his back stood like spikes, and he held his ground despite his smaller size.

Fella made it out, but she dropped the poker in the process. “Aguilax, come on!”

The weakened section of roof collapsed under the black trunder. Unaware that his quarry was no longer trapped inside, the beast plunged through. The table cracked under its weight.

Aguilax sprang out the window. “Where’s the third?”

“Never mind that,” said Fella, breathless. “Just run. We can handle them one at a time, if we must.”

With Fella in the lead and Illo bringing up the rear, the group hurried into the woods. Elodie didn’t think her fingers would let go of the dryad spear even if she wanted to.

Podgin’s face regained some of its color. “Those brutes will rue the day I took up the pan if they damage my book or my baskets.”

“Worry about your things once your life isn’t in danger,” said Illo. “They’re getting out. And the brown one’s back.”

Elodie craned her neck without slowing down. Sure enough, the third trunder took off from the garden behind the cottage. It shook its head, swerving this way and that. Elodie guessed it had lost the fight on the roof.

Fella led them from tree to tree, never giving the trunder a straight path. Her plan worked at first, as the beast stayed at a safe distance. Then two shadows glided over their path from the side. The red and black trunders dived, like hawks at a rodent.

Twisting as she ran, Illo sent an arrow flying. The trunders bent out of the way. One veered to the right and the other to the left, while the third picked up speed from the rear. As the group ran, the trunders swooped closer.

Illo shouldered her bow and caught up to Elodie. “This would be a great time for your Nayadu to show up.”

Elodie caught the sarcasm in her voice, but she silently agreed. She would have given anything to see Nayadu charge from the trees as the great bear and chase away the trunders once again.

Fella called from up ahead. “Almost there! Follow me.”

All three trunders bore down on them now, kicking and slashing at each other to be the first to snag a victim.

Podgin’s earth bank appeared up ahead. Elodie recognized the hidden mound and the chimney from her badger ride with the dryads. The little man himself ran faster at the sight of his front door. His stubby legs pumped madly. His cheeks glowed as red as his nose.

Fella got there first. She threw the door open and shoved the others inside. Elodie, Aguilax, and Podgin fell inside in a tangled mass of legs, wings, and sneezes. Illo sped in after them. She spun around in the doorway.

“Fella, come on!”

Clutching her side and breathing hard, Fella stumbled forward.

Claws yanked her back. Illo screamed. The black trunder took Fella by the arms, dragging her away from the earth bank. The red one hungrily snapped at Fella’s legs, but the brown trunder drove them both to the ground, where Fella disappeared under the snarling, scrapping frenzy.

Illo grabbed the spear from Elodie. Before the others could stop her, she attacked the trunders with a raw shout. The red trunder knocked Illo’s legs out from under her, but she sprang back up and kept going. Aguilax streaked to her side. His claws drew stripes along the trunder’s flank. Elodie snatched Podgin’s pan and brought it down on the black trunder’s snout with all her might. The beast howled and broke away from the fight.

Illo unleashed a hail of blows on the red trunder. Elodie dropped the pan. Now was her chance. She latched on to Fella’s kicking feet. Her back screamed at her to stop, but she shut out the pain and pulled Fella clear.

The brown trunder dragged back its red companion by the scruff of its neck. With a final snarl at Illo and Elodie, the red trunder retreated. Beaten and battered, all three of them careened into the woods.

Illo took her bow for a final, desperate shot. Her arrow arched into the leaves, and they lost sight of it. Three winged figures rose against the sky as the trunders flew north.

Illo threw herself beside Fella. “I’m sorry!”

Fella smiled weakly from the ground. “It’s not your fault.” She winced. “I’m fine. That black one just clawed up my ribs a bit.”

Illo pried Fella’s hand from her side. A sticky, red stain the size of her palm seeped through her shirt.

“On second thought,” said Fella. “That hurts a fair amount. Can you get me inside?”

Podgin and Illo carried her through the door. Aguilax swept a pile of junk off Podgin’s comfortable chair, and they sat her down as gently as they could.

“That’s better,” said Fella. “Who wants to go back for the bandages?” Her weak laugh turned into a cough.

Illo took her hand. “I’m staying right here.”

“I think we all are, for the time being,” said Aguilax. “One door and no roof or windows. If the trunders dare to come back after today, they won’t find it so easy to break in. You don’t mind, do you, neighbor?”

Podgin hadn’t found the will to complain yet. He and Elodie rummaged through his trove of belongings in search of something clean enough to wrap Fella’s side. The cuts crisscrossed her side but were shallower than the ones Elodie had suffered.

Fella pulled Elodie aside. “Thanks for the help back there. Now we know each other’s pain.”

Elodie smiled gave her a reassuring squeeze, but a knot formed in her throat. Even the cottage, her one haven in the forest, hadn’t kept them safe from the trunders. They almost hadn’t made it. She couldn’t deny the truth any longer. Her hopes of getting Martin back were slim.

* * *

Podgin’s underground home underwent a grand reorganization. While Fella rested in his favorite chair, Podgin stood to the side and groaned and moaned as Elodie, Illo, and Aguilax shoved aside baskets, chests, and boxes to clear some floor space. They cleaned off a small table, arranged the cleanest chests into makeshift seats, and overhauled the contents of Podgin’s shelves to make room for useful items such as clean towels for Fella and some spare flasks Illo found.

They would have spruced up his kitchen space as well, but Podgin planted his feet in front of his oven and waved his hands. “No, no, no! You’re not allowed. Move things about to your heart’s content over there, but this is my sanctuary. No one touches my oven except me.”

Only when Fella was comfortably situated and the house mildly improved did Illo let Elodie take a look at her leg. The red trunder had left an impressive array of bruises down her shin, but that was the extent of the damage. As soon as she could shake them all away from her, Illo limped out the door with her bow.

“I’m going to take a look around,” she said.

The rest watched her go.

“Give her a moment,” said Fella. “She’ll be back.” She sank lower in the chair with her hands on her side. Soon her eyes shut.

Elodie slipped out as well several minutes later. She scaled the earth bank and sat in the tall grass on top, hugging her knees to her. Hidden from everyone else, she cried out her worry and exhaustion. She felt somewhat better afterward.

Elodie went back inside. She said nothing, and no one asked where she had gone. Fella was asleep. Podgin recovered enough of his usual self to poke around in his cupboards. His legs and feet stuck out, everything else rummaged inside. Podgin emerged with a handful of shelled walnuts.

Elodie shook her head at him.

He blinked. “What?”

She felt the need to say something clever, but before anything came mind, the door burst open, waking Fella, and Illo stormed in. She held a squirming bundle against her chest.

“You won’t believe what I found,” she said.

Illo dropped the bundle on the table. It sprawled open into a squishy body with short legs, fingers that covered its face, a pair of floppy ears. The creature whimpered and curled itself back into a ball.

“Now you really can’t say I was wrong,” said Illo. “I found him again, sneaking around like he always is. This time we’ll get answers.”

The creature’s pale blue eyes peered at everyone through his fingers. “Bramble is sorry.”

* * *

The trunders flew all the way past the river. Martin reached the grotto before Copper and Wolf. His wings faltered and he careened down the trench without slowing down. He lacked the strength for a proper landing, so he let his body plow into the ground. He slid to a stop beside the waterfall. Sharp shale scraped through his fur, but that was nothing compared to the pain in his shoulder where Illo’s final arrow dug deep in his muscle.

Martin shivered by the water, his wings spread out along the ground, his legs tangled under him. His nostrils flared with each breath. So close. His friends had come so close to catastrophe. One slip of the foot, and any one of them might not have survived. If he hadn’t tackled Wolf on the roof and dragged Copper away from Podgin’s door, they would have paid a steep price. And Elodie...Martin clenched his eyes shut and buried his face in shale, a pitiful whimper in his throat.

Gusts of air pelted his prone form as Copper and Wolf landed behind him. Heavy steps loped to his side. Still panting, Wolf locked his powerful jaws behind Martin’s skull and shook him hard enough to send a message. Martin didn’t resist. As far as they knew, their hunt had failed because Martin didn’t want them to get the first bite. He couldn’t expect them to understand his true motives, but perhaps that was for the better.

Wolf retreated to the other side of the pool, and Copper came to Martin’s side. She didn’t attack him. Instead, she lifted his wing with her paw and nudged the arrow embedded in his shoulder. Martin flinched. Moving the arrow only made it hurt more. He snarled at Copper, but she insisted. She gripped the shaft between her teeth and tugged. This time, Martin scrambled away. He splashed into the pool and stayed there, trembling. Copper left him alone.

Martin let the waterfall beat against his spine. He hunched his back and dipped his snout into the pool, wondering how long he could hold his breath. When his back numbed under the pounding water, Martin rested in his usual spot.

Wolf left the grotto. Enough time passed for Martin’s fur to dry before he came back with a boar—a bog boar, Martin assumed—gripped in his claws. Wolf dropped the lifeless animal on the rocks by the water, and he and Copper wasted no time. Martin watched them gorge themselves. What a simple life they lived. Hunt, fail, try again, eat. Survive. He envied them and hated them for it at the same time.

Copper tossed a hunk of meat in Martin’s direction. He ignored it. Even Wolf came over and pushed it under his nose. Martin growled and shoved it away. The fur on Wolf’s neck bristled, and Martin thought he might attack again. He braced himself, but Wolf merely snatched up the boar meat for himself.

Copper and Wolf offered him portions twice more. Martin didn’t know whether they did so out of pity or an instinctive sense of togetherness, but he fended them off with a growl, or a paw swat if they insisted. They gave up and stripped the boar down to its bones. A fight broke out between them over the last strips of good meat. Copper and Wolf went at each other’s throats with claw and fang. Wolf was heavier and stronger, and Martin thought he would win for sure, but Copper overwhelmed Wolf with a fury of blows and savage tenacity. She pinned his back to the ground, howling right in his face. Then she let him go. Wolf fell back and tucked his head between his paws while she finished off the boar.

Martin turned his attention back to the arrow. He twisted and writhed in the shale, trying to reach the shaft with his paws and mouth. Nothing worked. He collapsed, panting. Copper came back to help. Martin bit her leg. Hard. She kicked him loose and retaliated, swiping her claws across his cheek. They stared each other down. Adrenaline broiled in Martin’s core. If she touched him again, arrow or no arrow, he would end her. Copper backed down. She growled one last time, then slunk to the other side of the pool.

After that, Martin gave up on the arrow. The trunders stayed in the grotto through midday. Martin only moved to keep up with the shade as the sun climbed higher. Then he grew restless. He wandered down the trench to loosen and warm his muscles. The walk did him some good, but when he lay back down in the grotto, he couldn’t shake the desire to move.

That desire turned into a demanding voice in his head, not just to move, but to leave. Elodie would be safer if he lost himself in the woods far away. If he left, she was free to go back home. He was a threat to her and to all of his companions.

Martin picked at the shale with a claw. The more he mulled it over, the more convinced he became. After all, Copper and Wolf had only crossed the river to follow him. Martin ached to be with Elodie and the others, but he had to accept reality. Removing himself was the only way to ensure everyone’s safety.

Martin acted quickly, fearing he might change his mind if he lingered. For the second time in an hour, he headed down the trench. Copper and Wolf merely watched him go. If all went well, he wouldn’t see them again. Martin drank from the water trickle at the end of the trench. Then he found north, and he didn’t look back.

* * *

The pendulum in Podgin’s carved clock on one of the shelves swung back and forth, back and forth. Elodie had been staring at it for the past ten minutes, counting each swing in her head. The others in the room sat motionless as well. Only a few impatient sighs from Illo interrupted the silence. She stretched her injured leg up on a stack of blankets, and every now and then she bent over to admire the purple blotches. Aguilax rested beside her in his usual curled posture. Fella and Podgin sat across the room. Fella held a fresh rag over her side, as Illo had given her strict instructions not to take the pressure off. Podgin snacked on more walnuts.

At last, their wait ended. A box buried near the back of the room wiggled to life. Bramble climbed out of it and moseyed his way into view, his hands clasped behind his back and his ears drooping like soggy leaves.

“Bramble is ready to honest-talk now.”

Fella gestured with her free hand to one of Podgin’s chests by the table. Bramble hopped up and let his feet dangle over the edge. His button-brown nose sniffled and his bottom lip quivered.

Elodie leaned closer to Illo. “I almost want to go hug the poor thing.”

“Hold that thought. He hasn’t started talking yet.”

“Now then,” said Fella. She kept her voice firm yet gentle. “You’ve been tricking and deceiving people long enough. It’s time for you to be honest with us.”

“Where must Bramble begin? Breakfast this morning?”

“We’re going to need you to back up more than that, I’m afraid.”

“Oh dear.” He pinched the tips of his ears. “Bramble is very nervous.”

“No one’s going to hurt you,” said Elodie.

“Unless you keep hiding things from us,” said Illo. “You’ve been up to no good, haven’t you?”

“Servants of Nayadu are right,” said Bramble with a sigh. “Bramble has caused more trouble than Bramble ever wanted to.” He looked around the room as if waiting for further instructions.

“What happened in the dryad palace all those years ago?” asked Fella. “Start there.”

“Oh dear. Mustn’t shake the leaves.”

“But that’s what you did, isn’t it? You played in the branches of the king’s tree, and the leaves fell off.”

“Sticky-majesty was very, very mad at Bramble, but Bramble didn’t mean to do it. Maybe Bramble trick-lied and ran away from sticky-majesty.”

“And then?”

Bramble tugged on his ears. “Sticky-majesty sent soldiers to search for Bramble, but Bramble is small and clever, and Bramble hid. But Bramble cannot hide from everyone. Nayadu found Bramble hiding in the thicket, and Nayadu made Bramble tell the truth. ‘Mustn’t tell a lie’, says Nayadu.”

“Here we go with more of this Nayadu nonsense,” said Podgin.

“Bramble promised to set things right, even though Bramble was ashamed. Sticky-majesty made Bramble promise to bring him a new queen, so Bramble looked and looked, under rocks and in bushes and tree hollows, but Bramble could not find any. But then Bramble found the sun-drop girl.”

Elodie felt all eyes turn to her. “Me? So...it was you all along? You gave me to the dryads?”

“Oh, dear. Bramble is sorry. Very sorry! But Bramble had to do it, or sticky-majesty would turn Bramble into a stump for birds to poopy-peck on!”

“And you took my blue shawl. That must have been what the dryads were arguing about.”

“Bramble is sorry.”

“You handed me over to be turned into a tree just to make up for your mistake?”

“Bramble is sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that.”

“Bramble is—oh dear.”

Elodie chewed on her lip. “I still don’t understand. Why did you take my shawl? And, now that I think if it, was it you who tried to drop that branch on us at the bridge?”

“Bramble doesn’t know...”

Fella leaned forward. “No lies, Bramble.”

The poor creature squealed and yanked on his ears some more. “Bramble had to get the sun-drop girl alone, so Bramble tried to hit Martin with the branch. But Bramble missed, and everybody fell in the river, and Bramble had to do things quickly because the sticky-soldiers were coming. Bramble never wanted to hurt Martin, but Bramble was afraid Martin would smacky-slap Bramble if Martin saw the dryads take his sun-drop girl!”

“You’re right,” muttered Elodie to Illo. “I don’t want to hug him anymore.”

“Told you.” Illo turned back to Bramble. “You were with Martin when I found him in the pit. He told us you were helping him look for Elodie. Why did you lie to him? Why go with him at all?”

“Bramble did not lie that time! Bramble felt so guilty for giving the sun-drop girl to the dryads that Bramble told Martin the truth...most of the time. Bramble really wanted to find the sun-drop girl for Martin to get rid of the guilty-shame.”

“Why didn’t you follow through?” asked Elodie.

“Because Bramble became afraid. Nobody liked Bramble anymore, and if bad things happened, Bramble knew fingers would be pointed.” Fresh tears puddled in his eyes. “When Bramble is ashamed, Bramble’s ideas get all swappy-swirled, and Bramble makes more mistakes. Bramble thought that if Martin found the sun-drop girl, Martin would know what Bramble did, and Martin would tell the servants of Nayadu, and Nayadu would come find Bramble, and Bramble would be punished forever!” He ended his breathless sentence with a wail.

Other than his sniffling, the room was quiet. Elodie tried to process everything Bramble was bawling out. She could tell there was more to his story.

“I know this must be hard for you,” she said softly, “but we need to know everything.”

“S-sun-drop girl is not angry at Bramble?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Your biggest mistake so far was to assume your blunders turn the world against you,” said Fella. “Nayadu isn’t mad like your king. I don’t think she ever meant to punish you, but to urge you to set things right in an honest way. What did you do after you ran away from Illo and Martin?”

“Bramble went back to the dryad palace. Bramble was not wanted there, and the sticky-soldiers tossed Bramble into the lake. But Bramble didn’t give up. Bramble sneaky-slipped into the palace to watch. Bramble thought if the sticky-king liked the sun-drop girl, then Martin would never find the sun-drop girl, and Bramble would not have to be afraid anymore.”

“But I escaped,” said Elodie.

Bramble nodded. “The sticky-king rage-ranted and frightened Bramble to death. Bramble followed the sun-drop girl for a little while, trying to think what to do, what to do. Bramble had to do something or all Bramble’s mistakes would be found out.”

“What did you decide to do?” said Fella.

Bramble let out another moan. He pulled on his ears so hard he lost his balance and knocked his head on the table. “Bramble decided to be honest once and for all. Bramble knew where the sun-drop girl had crossed the Minnychucky, and Bramble decided to take Martin to her at night so that no one else would see Bramble. Bramble is sorry!” He wailed and sobbed some more.

Elodie’s heart accelerated. “Bramble, do you know where Martin’s been all this time?”

Bramble beat his little fists on the table. “Mustn’t make a peep! Bramble promised, but now Bramble is making all the peeps! Mustn’t tell a lie, mustn’t tell a lie!”

“You know. I know you do. What happened to him?”

The flailing stopped. “Bramble figured out that trunders bit Martin’s hand, but Bramble was too late to do anything. Bramble could only watch, and then Bramble ran away!” He wrapped his ears around his face and curled into a quaking ball.

“The poison in his arm,” said Illo. “It was trunder toxin. Remember what I read in the journal? Oh, why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

Elodie steadied her hands. “What...what does the poison do, Bramble?”

Bramble kept his eyes covered. “Sun-drop girl will not like what Bramble has to say.”

12. One Dark Step

Illo and Fella agreed it was best to keep Bramble under supervision until they figured out what to do about Martin and the trunders. Bramble didn’t mind spending the day hiding in his box of choice, which, as Podgin pointed out, was for gardening materials. Bramble fit in nicely among the ceramic pots, gloves, and sacks of dry dirt.

“Why do you have all that junk?” said Illo. “You don’t garden.”

“But I will,” said Podgin. “As soon as someone discovers how to plant and grow exquisite truffles.”

Illo and Aguilax spent the better part of an hour listing things they wished they had been able to bring from the cottage, including Forest Flora and Fauna, from Floodweed to Fanged Fledglings.

“I never finished reading the page on trunders,” said Illo. “There may have been useful information. We’ve got to get that book.”

They decided to make a quick run to the cottage the next day, assuming no more trunders showed up. After that, tiredness weighed heavy on everyone. Podgin dozed off in his comfortable chair, which he had reclaimed from Fella once she was up to walking around. Illo and Fella made makeshift cots out of old quilts and passed out shortly after Podgin. Aguilax perched atop a stack of chests by the door. Before long, he too was asleep. Elodie lay awake on a blanket that smelled like damp earth. She stared at the ceiling, listening to Podgin’s snores.

She double checked that no one was awake. Then she tiptoed around her slumbering companions and crossed the room. She couldn’t afford to wake anyone, or they would stop her for sure. Elodie knelt by Bramble’s garden box and pushed back the lid. Inside, Bramble sat in the flower pots. He had poked open one of the dirt sacks and piled handfuls of dry soil on his head.

He peered at her suspiciously. “Has the sun-drop girl chosen a punishment for Bramble?”

Elodie motioned for him to lower his voice. “I’m not here to punish you. I have two things to say, and I don’t have time to repeat them, so I need you to listen closely. Can you do that?”

Bramble worked dirt out of his ears. “Bramble will listen.”

“Good.” She took a deep breath. “The first thing I need to tell you is the hardest one. That’s why I’ve put it first. I’ve decided to forgive you, Bramble. I thought about it for a long time, trying to come up with a reason why I shouldn’t tie your ears in a knot and hang you from the tallest tree in the woods. I couldn’t think of one, but I realized I won’t gain anything by staying angry at you. So I forgive you for giving me to the dryads and for lying to all of us.”

Bramble looked ready to burst into tears again, so she kept talking.

“I’m also going to let you go. Illo and Fella put you here so you wouldn’t cause any more trouble, but I don’t see what more you could do.”

“Sun-drop girl is setting Bramble free?”

“I am.” She picked Bramble up under the arms and gently wiped away the remaining dirt from his head. “On one condition. You have to promise you won’t let mistakes get the better of you anymore. No more pulling on your ears and no more piling dirt on yourself.”

Bramble stared at her with apples for eyes. Then he wrapped his fuzzy arms around her neck. “Bramble promises.”

“I expected nothing less.” She carried him to the door and cracked it open. “I know you can be brave and good if you choose to be.”

Bramble grinned from ear to ear. It was the first time Elodie had seen him smile. He waggled his ears, and then he was gone.

Elodie got right back to work, since she didn’t know how much time she had before the others woke up. She poked through Podgin’s kitchen area until she found a sharp knife with a blade twice the length of her thumb. She tucked the knife into her belt and took the dryad spear as well. She had no idea how to properly use either of them, but a weapon or two might come in handy. She stood on her toes to reach a flask from the shelf. It was empty, but she took it anyways. Then she pulled out the sack of dirt Bramble had emptied, and after shaking it out, she filled it with as much food as she could find. Elodie told herself she would repay what she took later even though she knew she might not get the chance.

At the door, she tied her hair behind her neck with a bit of string she found while rummaging for food. She drew in a decisive breath through her nose. She took one last look at her companions, wondering if she would see them again. Nonetheless, she set off from the earth bank.

First, Elodie wound her way to Fella’s cottage. The broken roof, the trampled garden, and the shattered window shutters reminded her what she was going up against, but she squared her shoulders and hopped across the brook. Back in the trees, she turned north.

An oak behind her rattled, followed by a thump and a string of angry words. Elodie swung around. Illo pushed herself off the ground and stood, brushing twigs and dirt from her clothes.

Elodie sighed. She wasn’t all that surprised. “Trouble in the trees?”

Illo hobbled up beside her. “I have a few things to say to you. One, I’m very good at faking sleep. Two, you’re incredibly predictable. And three, that really hurt.” She rubbed her backside.

“You look like a crippled stork, limping around like that.”

“That’s why I’m on the ground instead of in the branches. Did you really think you could run off chasing trunders without me?”

Elodie broke into a smile. “No, I suppose not. But it was worth a shot. All the same, I’m glad you followed me.”

“Remind me of that when we’re both dead before dinner. Oh, and while we’re at it…” she took Elodie’s shoulders in her hands and turned her a few degrees to the left. “The river is that way.”

“I knew that.”

The cottage disappeared behind them. Illo didn’t say a word, but she did glance back with a soft sigh. Elodie had to help her over rocks and stout logs, but she wouldn’t have traded her for anyone else even with her bruised leg. Knowing she had a true friend with her warmed her heart.

“Do you have a plan?” Illo asked after a while.

“Sort of. I brought food and weapons, and a flask for water.”

“That’s not what I meant. Do you have a plan for Martin?”

“I’ll beat him back into a human with a stick if I have to.”

“So that’s a no.”

“I don’t know. If nothing else, I’ll tell him about Nayadu, and we can find her together. If anyone knows how to change him back, she will.”

Illo hesitated. “I was hoping for something more substantial than that.”

“Maybe...maybe I can’t help him,” said Elodie. “Maybe no one can. I still want to see him. To talk to him. Just one chance to—” her voice cracked. She bit her lip and said no more.

“What if the change isn’t just on the outside? Have you considered that? Not to sound harsh, but he could be an animal all the way through. What if he’s not thinking straight, and he decides to, you know, take a nibble?”

Elodie shuddered. “Trust me, the possibility has been dancing circles in my head ever since Bramble told us what happened. I’m scared, Illo. I really am. For all we know, Martin could have been one of the trunders that attacked us. If there’s nothing left of the real Martin, I’ll have truly lost him. But I have to know.”

* * *

Martin propelled himself above the treetops, but even with open sky at his disposal, his flight from the grotto was short lived. He covered far less ground than he wanted to before Illo’s arrow drained his strength. Pain and fatigue drove him earthward like a stone. Before he could rectify his descent, he crashed through the network of branches, punching a hole in the forest roof. He spiraled out of control and surrendered to gravity.

In the last possible moment, he spread his wings wide in a final burst of strength. Instead of dashing himself to pieces against the ground, he slid a good twenty feet across a bed of moss and leaves, churning the ground in his wake. Birds erupted from the trees around him, chiding him for his destructive fall as they zipped away.

Martin struggled to his feet. His shoulder begged for a rest, but first he made sure he was alone. Then he sat on his haunches and devised a way to get rid of the arrow. Clawing or biting it out was out of the question. Perhaps, if he leveled it just right, he could bend it out against one of the tree trunks.

He drove his back against an oak, angling his body so that the trunk pushed against the arrow shaft. The jagged pain drew a howl from deep inside him, but the arrow yielded, so he bared his fangs and pressed harder. The shaft broke in half. The fletched end rattled into the leaves, and the arrowhead settled back into his muscle. Only a couple inches of wood jutted from his hide. His chances of getting the arrow out vanished like a popped bubble.

He kept going north, his head hanging low and his limp worsening. A warm ooze tickled his shoulder. He wanted to cry. No, he needed to cry, to vent his pain and loneliness and feel the tears on his face, but he physically couldn’t. His human nature battered against the animal walls encasing it to no avail.

His wings hung uselessly at his sides, dragging through the leaves. Another of the forest’s myriad streams drew a line in his path. Martin lowered his shoulder into the water. It stung him like fire, but after a few moments, some of the pain dulled in the cold current. He pulled himself up the opposite bank. From there, he wandered aimlessly. North didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did.

His legs carried him to the base of a steep hill where thick foliage blocked out the sun. The earth dampened under Martin’s paws. Dry leaves and grass gave way to blankets of thistles and clover. He turned his face away, but it was too late. Memories of Elodie pierced him like a blade, and something snapped in his mind.

Martin howled at the hills. Anger lent him strength. He tore up the ground with his claws, flinging dirt and clover in all directions faster than any dog could dig. He scratched and clawed and gutted the earth.

Leaving his destruction behind, Martin took to the hill, taking advantage of his renewed vigor. He flew up the jagged slope in brief spurts, and when his wings gave out again, he groped his way to the top. There, nestled under a great boulder, he found a cave. He stood at the gaping mouth, sniffing the air inside. Empty. Martin limped inside. It was small but dry and dark, and, most importantly, it sheltered him from the outside world. He hid in the farthest reaches of the cave, away from the sounds and sights of the woods. He folded his wings around himself, shut his eyes, and let his debilities blot out the world.

* * *

Illo led the way by unspoken consent, and she and Elodie made good progress towards the Minnowchuck. It wasn’t long before they left the flat and widespread forest around the cottage to delve into thicker woods to the north. Glades became banks and streambeds, while holly and ash joined ranks with the stout oaks. Elodie thought she might recognize the terrain, as she had passed through these parts during her flight from the trunders, yet the woods showed a new face around each bend.

Illo’s leg gave her no shortage of trouble. She hid it well and tried not to slow down, but Elodie could tell she was in pain. A grimace here, a slight stumble there, yet Illo never complained. Elodie did everything she could to help her, and though Illo stubbornly refused at first, they stopped for quick breaks every so often.

They had their first brush with the wild close to the south bank of the Minnowchuck. During one of their breaks, Illo tenderly massaged her bruised leg on a log while Elodie ventured out a few steps. She saw movement behind a holly stand up ahead, and she kept still to see what it was. A brown bear lumbered into view, probing the air with its shiny black snout.

“Nayadu?” Elodie ran forward.

The bear stopped, rising on its hind legs.

An arrow sang past Elodie and grazed the bear’s flank. Elodie yelled at Illo to stop, but it was too late. The bear dropped on all four legs and crashed into the woods.

“Are you insane?” Elodie turned on Illo. “What if that was her?”

Illo set her bow down. She hadn’t even stood up. “It was just a bear.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it looked like a dumb animal and it ran like a dumb animal. I missed on purpose, for your sake. Now, do you mind fetching the arrow? I’m running low.”

Elodie found the arrow stuck in the ground. The bear was gone. Elodie sighed. Just a wild animal.

They came upon the banks of the Minnowchuck without any more wildlife encounters. Unlike the shallows where Elodie had crossed on her first venture over the river, the current ran swift and deep where they stood.

“Normally I’d show you how to cross through the branches,” said Illo. “But with my leg the way it is, I’d fall in halfway across, and Martin would never let me hear the end of it if he found out.”

They followed the river east until the current eased enough for them to ford without getting swept away. Elodie suggested they rest again on the north bank to let their legs dry and share a few bites of food.

“Have we gone straight north?” Elodie asked.

“Pretty much,” said Illo through bite of prunes.

“Then we can’t be too far from the little valley where Nayadu found me.”

“And trunder territory, by extension.”

Elodie hurried to put her shoes back on. “Well, that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

“Remember,” said Illo. “I’ve never been past the river. There are acres upon acres of woods out there, and we’re looking for one animal. This is when a plan would’ve been nice.”

“You said yourself, we’re heading into trunder territory. They can probably smell us a mile away, just like we can smell them. We may not be the ones doing the finding before the day is done.”

Illo shuddered. “Either way, you take the lead now. I just hope you’re ready to use that spear.”

The woods began to shift as they wound farther north. Little creatures crossed their path more and more often, the colors ebbed, and Elodie felt a familiar heaviness on her heart. Memories from her night spent in the dark woods reassured her they were going the right direction. She didn’t tell Illo, but she was tempted to turn around and run back to the river. No trunder smell reached them yet, but that didn’t mean their presence hadn’t been noticed.

The forest grew wet, and soon Elodie and Illo found themselves at the edge of a bog. Tree roots roped along a bank of firm, dark mud before trailing into murky water.

Illo crouched in the mud. “Look.”

Several rows of sharp hoof prints crisscrossed the mud into the bog.

Elodie took a closer look. “Deer?”

“Nope. Bog boar. Too bad we’re so far from the cottage. Otherwise, I’d come back sometime. Bog boar meat smokes beautifully, you know.”

The bog stretched out in all directions except behind them, so they tried to wade through, following the boar tracks. Toads burped as they approached the water. Shoes in hand, they made it a few squishy steps out before a snake skimmed the weedy water between Illo’s feet. She jumped back with a stifled scream.

“I can’t go through there,” she said. “Not with snakes. No way.” She touched her collarbone, staring bug-eyed at the water.

Elodie took her hand and pulled her back to dry ground. “We’ll circle around.”

Their new path led them through a stretch of dense thicket, where burrs clung to their clothes like hungry little insects. Elodie gave up on picking them off her pant legs. She was glad she had taken the time to tie her hair back.

The going got easier thereafter. The trees thinned out, allowing them to walk side by side without having to duck, weave, and pry themselves loose every other step.

Illo pulled up short and grabbed Elodie’s arm. “Smell that?”

“Trunder?” Elodie’s hand shot to the knife in her belt.

“I don’t think so. Smells like...gutted boar.”

“The bog’s behind us, though.”

Illo took off at a broken jog. “Trust me, I know a boar’s scent when I catch it. And I have a hunch. There aren’t many predators capable of bringing down a bog boar. We may find something. Let’s check it out.”

Elodie watched, fascinated, as Illo’s hunting instincts took over. She moved stiffly yet silently, bent at the knees, her bow at the ready. She reminded Elodie of a hyper, aggressive version of Nayadu. Elodie followed close behind. She clutched the dryad spear in both hands and checked over her shoulder every few minutes. Then she heard running water, not a constant rush like the Minnowchuck, but a gentle trickle in the background.

The boar scent and the running water both drew them in the same direction. A deep trench split the woods over the next rise, and from its depths ran a whisper of a creek. Illo knelt to taste the water.

“It’s clean.”

Elodie refilled the flask and drank. She filled it again after Illo drained the last drop.

“I’m sure of it now,” said Illo. “That’s a bog boar.”

They entered the trench single-file. The water wasn’t deep enough to cover the toes of their shoes. At the opposite end, the trench opened into a round grotto with loose shale covering the ground and natural stone walls. A waterfall fed a shallow pool, the creek’s birthplace, and sure enough, the mangled carcass of a boar lay by the water. A few flies already hovered around it.

Elodie plugged her nose and looked away from the poor animal, but Illo gleefully tottered around carcass.

“We’re definitely on to something,” she said, clapping her hands. “Come and see!”

“I’d rather not,” said Elodie.

“There were trunders here,” said Illo. “Recently, too. What’s left of the boar is already turning black and purple, and the shale’s all dug up.” They circled the pool as she spoke. “And a tuft of black fur here. I think we know who that belongs to.” At the back of the grotto, she gasped. “That’s a lot of blood. Not boar, though. It’s trunder blood. I wonder what happened.”

Elodie pointed to a smattering of dark drops on the stone near the trench opening. “There’s more here.”

Illo hurried over. “You’re right.” She retraced their steps. “And there’s another splotch here in the trench. It’s hard to see when you’re not looking for it.”

“If this is a trunder den,” said Elodie. “Shouldn’t we be leaving?”

“Not so fast,” said Illo. “See the flies around the boar? Nothing’s been here for a few hours at least. We’d be able to smell them.”

“Of course. So...what now?”

Illo sat in the shale. She propped her chin in her hands. “Let’s think. These clues could very well point straight to Martin.”

“How so?”

“Let me talk this through.”

Elodie sat.

“Okay, here’s what we have to go by.” Illo was getting worked up already. “Three trunders attacked us—a black one, a red one, and a brown one. That’s a chubby pig over there, or at least it used to be. It’s too big for one trunder to eat so much of it. Not only that, but the black fur and the bloodstains were on opposite sides of the grotto, both around spots where the shale had been moved. I think it’s safe to assume more than one trunder camped out in this grotto. If I had to guess, I’d say all three.”

“They did come together,” offered Elodie. “And they flew away together, too.”

“Exactly! They stick together, kind of like a wolf pack.”

“Nayadu compared them to wolves when we were talking about them.”

“Which brings me to my next point. How many trunders did you say you and Nayadu ran from?”

Elodie closed her eyes. “Two. Just two. Come to think of it, I’m sure one of them was the black one. Nayadu must have torn that piece of its wing off, remember?”

Illo smacked her fist into her palm. “Right, right. I get it now. How many days ago was that?”

Elodie knew Illo already had the answer. “Six.”

“Six,” Illo repeated. “So the night you spent on this side of the river was the same night Bramble took Martin from the cottage. In other words, the same night he turned into a trunder. Now, I’ve never been poisoned and transformed, but I imagine it would take time for him to figure out how to be an animal.”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

“Sorry. Anyway, do you follow me?”

Elodie rubbed her forehead. “I think so. You’re saying Martin’s the third trunder. You think he found the others, or they found him, sometime during those six days.”

Illo nodded enthusiastically. “Six days is a long time. Don’t you think it’s possible that Martin found acceptance with creatures like him, and that in the span of six days he learned to move like them, eat like them, and even hunt like them?”

“But...that would mean Martin attacked us just like the rest of them. That can’t be! He wouldn’t.”

“Maybe he didn’t, though.” Illo grabbed Elodie’s hands. Her eyes were wide and bright. “What if I told you I know which trunder Martin is?”

“How can you?” Elodie couldn’t hide the hope in her voice.

“Think about it. When they trapped us in the cottage, which one clawed through the roof?”

“The black one.”

“And which one broke through the window?”

Elodie thought back. “The red one.”

“So...where was the brown one?”

“I saw it on the roof,” said Elodie, shaking her head. “It was fighting to get...oh, no. It wasn’t.”

Illo’s grin flashed. “And when they chased us to Podgin’s house, which trunder grabbed Fella?”

Even Elodie was smiling now. “The black one.”

“And which one almost broke my leg?”

“The red one!”

“And where was the brown one?”

“Pulling them both away,” said Elodie. “Why didn’t I see that sooner? Poor Martin. He was trying to protect us the whole time. But can we be sure? What if we’re wrong?”

“We’re not,” said Illo. “There’s one more thing. On the day we found you, earlier that morning, a trunder came to the cottage. Only one. It was our brown friend. It didn’t attack me, it just...looked at me. That was the morning after Martin left. There’s no way it wasn’t him! He must have come back to the cottage for help, and I…oh.”

“What did you do?”

Illo cringed. “I may or may not have tried to shoot him. I didn’t know, honest! And I missed. Podgin slammed the door and scared me half to death. The trunder—Martin—ran away and didn’t come back until six days later.”

Elodie studied the grotto again. “Okay. So we know how many there are and which one Martin is. That’s only half the battle. Where are they now? Are they still together? How do we find them?”

“We could wait here and hope they come back, but that could take some time, and there’s more information we haven’t taken into account yet.”

“The blood.”

“Right, the blood. Let’s back up again. The biggest depression in the shale is right next to the boar. That’s also where I found this.” She held up the tuft of black fur. “If the black one lay there, then either the red one or Martin lay where the blood is.”

“But which one?”

Illo drummed her fingers on her knees for a minute. “The blood starts in the back,” she said slowly, “away from all the commotion by the boar, and then trails around this side of the pool and out the trench—or the other way around. Either way, whichever trunder shed blood didn’t join the pig feast. What good reason would a hungry trunder, fresh off a failed hunt, have for not taking easy food?”

Elodie hugged her knees. “I don’t like where this is going.”

Illo snapped her fingers in front of Elodie’s face. “Hey. Stay with me. He’s fine. It’s not a lot of blood, just a thin, broken trail. He has a flesh wound, at worst. It could be anything.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Elodie. “I guess we won’t know for sure until we find him.”

“Theoretically, no, but I’m confident. It all fits.” Illo stood. “What are we waiting for? Let’s track him down—I mean, let’s go find Martin. If I’m right, all we have to do is follow the blood trail.”

By that time, Elodie’s muscles had gone stiff. She stretched her legs and adjusted her belt. “I’m ready.”

Illo’s eyes were sharp, and since they knew what to look for, it wasn’t hard to follow the scattered drops of blood from the mouth of the trench northward. Then it stopped. Illo scoured the ground in all directions, but the trail simply ended.

“He took off flying,” said Elodie.

“Looks that way.” Illo touched the final bloodstain. “It’s dry. That’s time enough for a long head start.”

“Can we catch up to him?”

“If his injury plays in our favor, yes. Especially if...” her voice trailed off. “He was going north. We may find him yet. Let’s keep our noses busy—we don’t want to get caught by surprise.”

A hill gradually rose above them, dark and silent through the trees. The closer they got, the damper the forest grew. The sun inched below the trees in the west. They only had a few more hours of daylight.

Despite her excitement and energy, Illo’s limp was worse than when they left the cottage. Soon she was hopping more than walking.

Illo suddenly pointed. “Up ahead, look!”

The ground had been torn up in ragged chunks. Something big with sharp claws had riddled the earth with deep furrows.

“The trunders were here,” said Elodie. “Those claw marks. Nothing else could have made those. But what happened?”

Illo knelt to examine the broken ground. “Not trunders plural. Just one. Look at the claw patterns. Two front paws, see? That’s great news for us.” She moved past the stripes. “And look! More blood. This is where he came from.”

A trail had been broken through the forest. Saplings doubled over, the grass was trampled, and many of the low branches were bent back or broken. Illo ran her fingers over one of the crushed saplings. They came back covered in thick red goo.

She sniffed it and stuck out her tongue in disgust. “I don’t think he’s flying anymore. I wonder...” Once again, she left her thought unfinished. Her voice lost its giddy tone. “Come this way. I want to check something.”

They followed the fresh trail. At one point they lost it and ended up detouring through a tight clearing. As they hurried across to find the trail again, Elodie nearly fell down a cleft in the ground, hidden by leaves and roots. She jumped away in case anything grabbed her from the dark, but Illo chuckled.

“It’s just an empty den,” she said. “Badger, judging by the size. Those critters get big around here.”

Elodie nodded, edging away from the den. She was well familiar with badger sizes in the forest. Before long, Illo gave a yelp and limped forward. The trunder trail picked up in another patch of torn ground. Instead of precise claw marks, however, a wide swathe of leaves and dirt had been cleared.

“This is where it landed,” said Illo. “It crashed down through those trees. See where the branches have been parted? It was flying, but something made it come down in a hurry.” She worked her way around the crash area. “Something like this.” She picked an object from the leaves.

Elodie joined her. It was the feathered end of an arrow. The shaft was made of dark wood and the feathers were gray.

“It’s one of mine,” said Illo, a waver in her voice. “This is what I feared. I thought I missed when the trunders flew away from Podgin’s house, but apparently I was wrong.” Her face paled. “Elodie, I’m sorry. I think I shot Martin.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” said Elodie. “We don’t know any of this for sure. Not yet, anyways. If you can still walk, come back to the first clawed spot with me. I need to check something.”

They retraced their steps. Elodie noticed more blood along the way. There were paw prints, too, where the ground was soft. Back where they first found the torn ground, Elodie knelt in amid the gouges. She sifted through clumps of dirt until only the grass and petal shreds were left in her fingers.

A groan caught in her throat. “This isn’t grass, Illo. It’s clover.”

“And?”

“Remember the clover field I mentioned? Martin and I used to go there together. That field was one of my favorite places in the world. He used to tease me and say I spent so much time rolling around there that clover became part of my permanent aroma. This is the only place the trunder tore up on purpose. Here, in the clover. Now I’m convinced. It’s him!”

“So that’s it, then. I did shoot Martin.”

Elodie clasped Illo’s hands in her own. “But don’t you see? We know the truth now, and we’re so close to him. I can help him. I’ll go to him, and when he sees me he’ll remember me, and he’ll change back. I know it sounds silly, but what if? I have to try. I have to find him.”

Illo was silent for a long time. She eyed the hill above them. “He went up there,” she said at last. “Notice the loosened rocks and the torn moss. I doubt he was able to climb very far, since he’s hurt.”

“I think we can make it.” She made for the hill.

Illo stayed where she was. She gripped her bow tightly, and her lips pressed together.

“What’s wrong?”

“My leg. I didn’t want to admit it, but...it’s bad. I can’t climb terrain that steep and ragged.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I forgot all about that.”

“I’m fine,” said Illo. “Just go. I’ll find a tree to hide in, one that I can haul myself into. I’ll wait for you down here. For both of you.”

“Sounds like a plan. Keep this,” she gave Illo the spear. “It’ll weigh me down. I’ll take the knife.” Elodie paused, then pulled Illo into a tight hug. “Be careful.”

“Please,” said Illo with a snort. “It’s not me I’m worried about. You make sure you don’t get eaten.”

“I don’t care what he looks or smells like on the outside,” said Elodie. “He’s no animal. He’s still my Martin, and I’m not afraid of him.”

With a final nod, Elodie set off alone. It took her several minutes to reach the foot of the hill. She peered over her shoulder, but Illo was gone.

Elodie let out a breath. “I’m on my own now.”

She began the long climb up the hill.

* * *

Wearier than he had ever felt before, Martin sought sleep in the cave. He lay between two hefty stones at the far back, where no light reached him, yet the arrow wound kept him awake. His strength ebbed with each passing minute. He wondered if he was slowly bleeding out. He strained to reach the arrow shaft, though he knew it was pointless. His head fell back, his body limp and shivering. Pain and darkness were his companions now. He had chosen this, and he would live with it. Things were as they should be.

At last, Martin’s body succumbed to exhaustion. He slept off and on, waking himself every time he shifted his weight, but some rest was better than none, and he welcomed it.

He woke a final time to find he had dragged himself halfway across the cave in his restless sleep. He shuffled forward just enough to peer outside. The sun sank somewhere behind the hill. Purple shadows washed the woods outside the cave. Something else was different, too. A warm breeze teased his nostrils, bringing with it a scent that made him scurry into the deepest corners of the cave. It was sweet clover and sweat and aching memories. Elodie was near.

* * *

Elodie made slow progress. The hill was even steeper than it looked from the bottom, covered in leaves, logs, and plenty of mossy stones for her feet to slip on. She had to climb some parts on her hands and knees.

Trunder signs were everywhere—upturned rocks, patches of dirt swept aside, and of course the lingering smell of animal. Elodie stopped to observe the hill and the trees every few steps, but as far as she could tell, she was still alone.

Breeze cooled her skin. A blessing, albeit a small one. The breeze turned into wind, and the wind moaned like a ghastly voice near the top of the hill. She followed the sound with her gaze.

A great green stone jutted from the ground near the hill’s crown, and a jagged crack split the stone down the center, where the mouth of a dark cave gaped at her. Nayadu had said trunders preferred the dark, and if this one was hurt, it only made sense for it to seek shelter. The cave was straight ahead.

Elodie stopped to regain her breath. She sat in a knot of oak roots and stared at the forest rolling down from her feet. Somewhere in that direction, the bridge at the edge of the woods waited for her, and beyond the bridge, home. She couldn’t go back, not without Martin.

When she was ready, she faced the slope once more and continued up its leering face. She hoped she was right about the cave. The hill steepened to impassable degrees after the stone outcrop, and she didn’t fancy risking a long and painful fall.

Elodie reached the outcrop. Sure enough, trunder stench wafted out from the cave. The face of the hill sheltered her from the wind, and everything in front of her fell eerily silent.

She pulled Podgin’s knife from her belt. Her hands shook. It occurred to her—again—that she might land in serious trouble in the next few moments, but her heart stayed resolute even if her mind screamed at her to turn back.

She took a timid step into the cave. It was darker than she had anticipated. She couldn’t see anything. She only heard one sound, a slow, heavy breathing in the blackness. She waited for her eyes to adjust, then ventured farther in.

The cave was round, no bigger than the spare bedroom back in the cottage. The cave walls were smooth, dry stone. Gritty sand crunched under each step she took.

A shape moved in the dark. Elodie went still. He was there, watching her. Smelling her.

He came forth. Just one step, but one step was enough for her to see him. Sharp claws, muscled legs, a body covered in fur. Pointy ears twitched back and forth. A snarl on the lips, and the deadly fangs behind those lips.

And yet, when Elodie met the trunder’s black eyes, she saw more than an animal.

A breath escaped her lips. “Martin?”

13. Brass Rings and Black Wings

The trunder stayed where he was, half-concealed in the cave’s cold shadows. His unreadable eyes trained on her. His sides rose and fell with labored breaths as he inhaled and exhaled through bared teeth.

“Martin,” said Elodie. “I know it’s you. Can you understand me?” She held out a hand.

The trunder tensed, curling back his lips. He watched her hand warily.

“Martin, what have they done to you?”

Elodie spoke softly. Mayor Clarenbald had once purchased a mare in Aldenturf and left Elodie with the task of calming the spooked animal. This trunder acted much the same. His nostrils flared, his ears shifted, and a corded muscle in his shoulder quivered. Elodie tucked the knife back under her belt.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

She took another step. A growl rumbled in the trunder’s throat. He shifted his wings, and it was then Elodie saw the arrow, embedded in his left shoulder. If she hadn’t known to look for it, she might have missed it in the low light.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Elodie was close enough to feel the trunder’s warm breath on her arm. She winced at the fetid odor, and when he saw her expression he withdrew with a snarl.

“Stop it, Martin. You smell like a bucket of old meat, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”

The trunder’s ears flattened. Elodie flinched. If he attacked, she had a slim chance of making it to the mouth of the cave. She searched the trunder’s eyes again, longing to understand what was going on behind them. His pupils shifted. One moment they were hard, and the next moment they became small and pitiful, almost desperate. An ache flared in her chest.

“I know you’re suffering,” she said. “You’re trying to come out, Martin, but you’re afraid, aren’t you? Afraid of yourself, afraid of what you might do to me. You don’t have to be scared. I’m not going anywhere.”

The trunder looked over her shoulder at the pool of evening light beyond the cave.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Elodie. “You promised, remember? You promised you wouldn’t run from me anymore. I’m going to help you, Martin, even if I’m not sure how. You’ve got to let me come closer.”

Elodie took another step forward. Her hand trembled, but she closed her eyes and gently laid her fingers on the trunder’s neck. The trunder knocked her away with a powerful swipe of its arm. Elodie landed on her shoulders. Pain flashed in the old wounds on her back, and she couldn’t breathe for a second. The trunder pinned her to the ground with a paw. His fangs stopped inches from her throat.

“This isn’t you!” Elodie gasped. “Don’t let the animal take over, Martin. I understand you better than you think. If you hurt me, you’ll only be giving in to the part of you you’re so afraid of. Please, let me help you.”

The trunder panted over her. At last, he pulled back. He retreated into the dark. Elodie waited for her heart to settle before rising. Her back and shoulders smarted from the gritty sand.

“Fine, Martin! You think wallowing in this hole is the only solution, but I’ll drag you out by the ears if I have to.”

Elodie pushed deeper into the cave. Behind her, the entrance shrunk to a pale circle. She could hear the trunder’s breathing ahead of her. He had stopped moving.

She tried again. “It’s me. It’s your Elodie. I’ve known you since you were a skinny kid pulling my hair and startling me in the orchard. You’re not an animal, Martin. You’re the boy who knocked on Clarenbald’s door with a handful of bent flowers and thorns in your thumbs. You’re the man who put all your strength into scrubbing pots while others pitied you. You’re the warrior who threw himself headfirst into the unknown for my sake. And now, you’re chained down by your own guilt over what you’ve become. Don’t let guilt blot out the truth, Martin Colter. I refuse to give up on you, because underneath those claws and teeth there’s a stubborn, half-handed mess of a man, and I want him back.”

Silence filled the cave. Then Elodie’s hand brushed against the leathery membrane of his wing. She paused, expecting to be knocked away again, but he barely moved under her touch. She slid her hand down to his shoulder.

“That’s better,” she said. “I’m not much good at this, so go easy on me while I take care of this pesky arrow. And if you put those teeth anywhere near me, I’ll slap you.”

Elodie worked her fingers through the trunder’s fur until she found the arrow shaft. “Try to hold still.” She pressed a palm against the trunder’s shoulder and gripped the arrow in her other hand. She clenched her eyes shut and pulled as hard as she could. The arrow slid out with a squelch.

The trunder shook and let out a sharp cry, halfway between a growl and a whimper.

“There,” said Elodie. “That’s done. You’re going to be fine.”

Blood oozed from the trunder’s shoulder, but she had nothing to bandage him with. At least Illo’s arrowhead wasn’t broad enough to widen the wound. “Now, on to the bigger problem. We’ve got to get you back to normal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be as patient as I have to be, but those ears just don’t suit you.”

The trunder sank to the floor. Elodie cautiously sat beside him, leaning her back against the cave wall. She couldn’t see much of his face, and she wished she knew what he was thinking.

“I’ve missed you, Martin. I’ve been so worried these days. For a while, I thought I’d lost you for good. We weren’t that great at looking for each other, were we? Maybe in ten years we’ll sit under the orchard trees and laugh about our mishaps. Well, some of them. Some parts won’t ever be funny, like the dryad king, or the trunder attack, or—”

She put her hand to her mouth, but it was too late. The trunder pushed away from the wall without a sound. His body blocked the light from the entrance.

“Martin, wait! I didn’t mean it like that.”

The trunder left the cave. Elodie scrambled to catch up, but by the time she made it outside the cave, he was gone. A fist-sized rock rattled past her from above, and she caught a glimpse of brown fur darting into the trees beyond the cave and the boulder.

“You said you wouldn’t hide from me! You promised you wouldn’t ever run again! I gave you that stupid ring, and you promised!”

Elodie kicked at the boulder and smeared tears of frustration from her cheeks. Then she forced herself to calm down. She made sure the knife was snug in her belt. Illo could take care of herself a little longer, even with her bruised leg, but she worried what Martin might do if she left him alone.

She rounded the towering rock, leaving the cave behind. Trunder stench floated down from the hilltop. Even without Illo’s keen hunter senses, Elodie had little trouble following Martin’s trail around the hill’s crown. He still wasn’t flying, thankfully. Elodie slipped and fell in her haste to catch up.

“See if I ever bring you oranges again.”

The highest point of the hill challenged Elodie’s footing. Moss clung to everything like Clarenbald’s rugs, and the waning light made it hard to see under the trees. Elodie fell flat twice more before she crested the hill.

She caught her breath in a tight oak stand. The woods spread flat in one direction, back towards the cottage, while more hills rose and fell in the other direction. She didn’t stop for long. She had to race the sun as well as Martin. His trail, punctuated by drops of blood every few feet, went straight along the hilltop and dropped over the lip, away from Illo.

Not wanting to lose him to the night, Elodie sped down the northern face of the hill, a costly mistake, for her foot slid out from under her. Her subsequent roll down the hill came to a jarring end against a tree. Dazed and breathless, Elodie groaned and waited for everything to stop spinning. She checked for broken bones. All her limbs were still in place, but she predicted bruises along her ribs big enough to rival Illo’s leg.

She stood, doubling over against the tree. She felt like throwing up, but her stomach spared her. The hill slackened from where she stood, and she could reach the bottom in a few more minutes of careful sliding from tree to tree. Elodie found more blood in the area. Martin’s trunder stink thickened, but she still couldn’t see him.

Elodie folded her arms over her chest. “Stop wallowing in self-pity, Martin!”

A growl in the trees answered her.

Elodie whirled around, her hand on her chest. “Don’t do that! You…” She stopped.

It wasn’t Martin, but the black trunder brute that crouched before her.

14. Martin

Elodie’s gut twisted. Her breath lodged in her throat. Her mind raced, and she ground her teeth to keep herself from panicking. The trunder paced like a wolf below her, cutting off any escape route down the hill. As far as she could tell, the animal was alone, but the ground behind her was treacherous, as she had just found out. She was trapped. Only one option remained.

Elodie yanked the knife from her belt. “Have at it.”

The trunder feinted an attack. Elodie flinched but stayed in place. The trunder pulled back, looking at her as though wondering why its prey hadn’t turned to run yet.

Elodie figured the beast had spent all its life chasing after its meals. She would be running for her life as well, if she had anywhere to run, but if she gave it a fight, it might decide she wasn’t worth the trouble. She spread her feet and braced herself, her fingers locked around the knife handle, her only weapon. Her odds of survival depended on it. She exhaled slowly.

The waiting game ended. The trunder tossed its head and attacked. Great bounds carried it up the hill. Elodie tried to dive out of the way, but she was too slow. The trunder plowed into her midsection at full speed.

The blow picked Elodie off her feet. She landed against the splayed roots of an overturned oak with the wind knocked out of her. The sound of her pulse filled her ears. She tried to slide away, but her feet tangled in the roots.

The trunder leaped onto her. Its rancid fur smothered her face. She held up her arms to shield herself from the snapping jaws. In the back of her mind, she knew that if the beast bit her, she was as good as dead, or worse.

Elodie kicked and struggled, trying to use the knife to fight back, but a hundred pounds of animal pinned her down. The roots bent under her as the trunder pushed her closer to the ground. Her ribs were bound to crack any moment.

Elodie expelled a burst of energy in a raw shout. She found a lucky opening and punched the trunder in the snout as hard as she could. The animal recoiled just enough for her to roll free of the roots. She brought the knife down, forgetting that Podgin’s blade was made for cutting, not stabbing. Her wrist twisted sharply and the knife slipped harmlessly down the trunder’s leg.

The trunder drew back. It crouched low to the ground to pounce a second time. Elodie seized her chance and ran. The beast thundered after her.

A spring cut through a boulder field at the bottom of the hill. Pools formed amid the rocks, too deep to ford and too wide to jump over. Elodie shot a glance over her shoulder. The trunder snapped at her heels. She had to try.

She took two steps up one of the rocks and leaped as far as she could. Predictably, it wasn’t enough. She plunged into the pool. She pushed off the bottom and broke the surface. The trunder easily cleared the pool. It crouched on the rocks she had failed to reach, its tongue hanging out.

Elodie slapped water at it. “Don’t taunt me!”

The trunder swiped a paw at her. Elodie ducked under the cold water. She swam in the dark until her knuckles bashed a rock and she couldn’t hold her breath anymore. Elodie pulled herself up the boulders on her side of the spring, her hair slopping over her face.

The trunder hadn’t moved. It was toying with her.

Elodie’s foot slipped. She lurched forward to avoid a fall back into the water. The knife slid from her wet fingers and rattled down amid the rocks.

She didn’t dare keep her back turned long enough to find it. She crouched on the boulder without taking her eyes off the trunder. Her lungs heaved for oxygen. In the precious seconds before the beast inevitably grew tired of its sport, she grabbed a hefty stone from the ground.

“What are you waiting for?” She yelled. “Finish me if you can.”

The trunder flew skyward. Here, in the break in the trees, it had all the space it needed to strike from above. Elodie wouldn’t get a second chance this time. She drew the stone back.

Just as she was about to hurl it, a brown flash shot over the spring from the trees.

Elodie cried out. “Martin, don’t!”

Martin didn’t listen. He collided with the black trunder in midair. One of them howled, though Elodie couldn’t tell which. Locked together, both trunders hit the water and sank out of sight.

Elodie dropped her rock and scrambled under the boulders on her hands and knees until she found Podgin’s knife. By that time, Martin and the black trunder had burst from the spring. They fought like two lions on the opposite bank. A frightening mix of snarls and whines echoed off the rocks.

“Hang on, Martin. I’m coming!”

Elodie leaped from stone to stone until she found a spot downstream where the boulders leaned over the water enough for her to jump the gap. She landed awkwardly on the other side. Towering rocks blocked her view of the trunders, but the sounds of their battle sent a shiver up her neck.

By the time she wound through the boulder field and found them, the black trunder had Martin trapped under it. The brute gouged Martin’s chest with its claws. Martin didn’t fight back.

Elodie screamed. “Get off him!” She threw fist-sized rocks at it, but they merely bounced off its thick hide.

Blind with rage, Elodie ran at the trunders with the knife held high. She swung it down with both arms, drawing a line down the black trunder’s wing. The brute howled and whirled on her. She stumbled back. She had to draw it away from Martin.

The trunder wasn’t playing games anymore. It moved faster than she could react. She fell, knocking her hip on the rocks. Teeth clamped down on her shoe. The trunder pulled her toward the water. Elodie grasped at anything she slid over, but her efforts were useless.

The trunder pushed her against a boulder over the water. She felt the stone slide an inch under her back. Just as the trunder gathered itself to finish her off, Elodie spotted Martin’s still form strewn on the rocks.

She dug her heels into the ground and pushed as hard as she could. She was no match for the trunder’s raw strength. Bucking and twisting, Elodie let the animal push her back against the boulder. The impact nearly crushed her, but the boulder slid back some more. She heard a handful of smaller stones splash into the water behind her.

The trunder lunged for her neck.

Elodie let go. She fell onto her back and kicked as hard as she could. Her heel struck the trunder under its ear, drawing a harsh cry. The beast lost its balance. Elodie kicked again. This time, she caught the trunder below its wing. Clawing at the rocks, the trunder slid into the spring.

Elodie ignored the metal taste on her tongue and the pain in every bone. She jumped up and put all her weight against the loosened boulder. Even as the trunder scrambled back up the rocks, she yelled and pushed with every last bit of energy she had.

The boulder rolled over the edge and struck the beast. Elodie heard something snap. The trunder howled and splashed back into the water.

Elodie waited on her hands and knees, gulping down precious air. She waited, watching, not daring to turn her back just yet.

The trunder emerged from the water a couple dozen feet downstream. It scaled the rocks on the opposite side of the spring. One of its wings crumpled at its side. It glared at Elodie over its shoulder, then fled into the trees. It didn’t come back.

Elodie collapsed, unable to move, much less stand, until the thought of Martin lent her the strength to rise. She quickly checked herself. Her lip was cut and stones had torn through the fabric on both her knees, but she found no serious injuries. She crawled over to Martin.

A small wail escaped her lips when she saw the damage done to him by the black trunder. His chest was a mesh of deep scratches and his breaths came out short and ragged. Elodie took his head in her hands.

“Look at me, Martin. I’m here now, and the trunder’s gone. We’re safe.”

Martin barely acknowledged her. He stared into nothingness, his eyes half shut. He whimpered once, then fell silent. Elodie cradled his head. Martin was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

For a long time, Elodie sat in a heap beside Martin. She felt each of his labored breaths as if they were her own. If she couldn’t heal him, she wanted to take the pain from him even if it meant feeling every wound on her own self. But this, too, was beyond her. She was useless. Her despair turned to frustration, and her frustration soon grew into anger, and she stood.

“No,” she said. “I won’t sit here and watch you go. Get up, Martin. Try to move. No one will ever find us if we stay here. We have to get you to Illo, or Fella, or anybody!”

Martin barely raised his head at her outburst. She recognized the resignation in his dimming eyes.

“Stop it,” she said. “Don’t you dare make that face. I don’t even care if you’re winged and smelly forever. It’s better than losing you.” Silent tears leaked down her face.

Elodie turned away. Now was not the time for crying. She had to pull herself together. Martin whimpered softly behind her. He pushed himself up, staggered, and fell again. Elodie put her arm around his neck and pulled with him, and thus he found his feet. Martin needed all his strength just to keep his balance at first. Then he took a feeble step.

“That’s it,” said Elodie. “This way. I’ll help you.”

Supporting as much of his weight as she could, Elodie led Martin along the foot of the hill. Their progress was slow and hard-fought. Each step drained more of Martin’s strength, but he bared his teeth and pressed on. Elodie spoke words of encouragement to him, injecting more belief into her voice than she herself felt.

They didn’t make it far. Martin took three more shuffling steps before collapsing. Elodie dropped to her knees at his side. He looked at her, utterly spent, and no amount of pleading coaxed him up again. She stayed with him, running her fingers through the matted fur of his neck, whispering softly to hold off the silence a little longer.

The light in Martin’s eyes faded like a flame without fuel. With each passing minute his head sank lower to the ground. Elodie knew her time with him was drawing short. She laid his head on her lap and crooned a few lines of a wordless tune. Elodie improvised the melody with her breaking voice, but Martin’s face calmed, so she carried on.

Martin’s eyes closed, and his head fell back. Elodie heaved out a quiet sob, her charade broken.

Then, from the darkening woods around them, little paws pattered her way. A fox ran through the trees, its sleek fur gleaming like moonlight. It trotted to Elodie’s side and licked her hand. The fox spun away and wrapped itself in white light before her eyes. Elodie raised her hand to shield her face, and when the light faded, Nayadu stood before her.

“You came,” said Elodie, rising in a hurry. “This isn’t a real trunder. It’s Martin.”

Nayadu silenced her with a raised hand. “You don’t have to explain what happened,” she said. “But you didn’t come alone. Where’s Illo?”

“She’s waiting for me somewhere over the hill. She couldn’t climb with her leg.”

Nayadu closed her eyes and let out a small breath. “How I wish...” She bowed her head. “But there’s no time for that. Give Martin to me.”

Elodie hesitated, but Nayadu gently pulled her away. She scooped up Martin’s limp body in her arms. Then she turned to Elodie. Her lip trembled as she searched for words.

“I’m scared,” was all she said.

Elodie ran to her, but Nayadu recoiled.

“Don’t,” she said. “Please. I know what I must do, and I’m so sorry. I never wanted this. For too long I let shame hold me back from telling the truth. I should have shown myself a long time ago. You all deserved to know, but in my doubt, I hid. I will hide no more.”

“What are you saying?”

Light poured from Nayadu’s body. She held Martin close against her.

Elodie reached out a hand. “You can heal him without going too far, can’t you?”

Nayadu dropped to her knees. A tear slid past her smile. “You’re a good friend, Elodie. Will you do something for me?” Her life light enveloped Martin like shimmering liquid, and she morphed one last time where she knelt. “Tell my sister I love her.”

As the last drop of light bled from her, Fella closed her eyes. Her body faded. The smile lingered on her lips, and then she was gone.

15. Champion of the Woods

Martin was alive and restored. No words could express Elodie’s relief to see him back in his normal self, exactly as he was the last time she saw him, the real him, missing hand and all. Yet she didn’t run to him right away. Instead, she stared at the space where a brave woman had knelt.

Elodie shed no tears, for it wasn’t only sorrow she felt, but a pang in her chest where gratitude and loss mixed like hot and cold air. She knew she would never fully understand Nayadu, nor would she ever get a chance to repay her. There was nothing more for her to do. Elodie mouthed a silent, heavy thank-you. Then she went to Martin.

He lay on his back in the leaves, lost in a deep sleep, his arms resting at his sides, his face as calm as she had ever seen it. Elodie saw no trace of trunder left on him, and when she pulled up his shirt to check his wounds, all she found were scars, little more than faint silver lines from his shoulder to his ribs. Elodie traced her fingertips down those scars. She would never forget.

Martin didn’t wake up, so Elodie gently pulled him into the soft roots of a tree and settled beside him. She leaned her head against the trunk with her eyes closed. Weariness fell on her. As twilight claimed the woods, sleep welcomed her.

The moon had risen high when Elodie woke up. For the first time in what felt like ages, complete peace washed over her. Martin was still asleep beside her. His chest rose and fell, and for a while she listened as his slow breaths passed through his lips.

Even though she had only slept a handful of hours, Elodie felt no need to lay back. She bent down to kiss Martin on the cheek. He didn’t move at all. She extracted herself from the roots and walked around to stretch her legs. She wrapped her arms around herself, warding off the night chill.

She wondered what had happened back home in the days since their disappearance, and if Martin’s mother in Aldenturf knew they were missing. She doubted anyone was still looking for them, and even if she was wrong, they were probably searching in all the wrong places.

Elodie grinned, imagining the faces everyone would make when she and Martin strolled into town. Then her grin faded. She was homesick, even if home meant running errands, dodging maids, and putting up with Clarenbald’s outrageously long teatimes. Elodie stared up at the moon. She was ready to go home.

Elodie wandered back to the tree where Martin slept. She eased down, smiled at him, and whispered, “Don’t make me wait too long.” She fell back asleep without trying.

* * *

New, warm, clean life seeped into his veins. For a long time, he slept, resting, healing from the inside out. Martin opened his eyes. Dark leaves fluttered high over his face. Beyond the leaves, stars blinked against a deep sky. He looked down and saw himself. He touched his legs and torso and arms with his one hand and found no wings or fur. A smile cracked his lips. The animal was gone, but his smile didn’t last long. He remembered it all—his trunder odor taunted his senses, and the sound of beating wings lingered in his mind. A look to his left, however, wiped it all away.

Elodie lay cradled in the oak roots beside him, her eyes closed in slumber. A strand of hair, glowing white in the moonlight, hung over her face. It fluttered with each breath she took. Her clothes were muddied and torn, tears had left streaks through the smudges on her cheeks, and dry blood mixed with the dirt on her hands, yet Martin had never found a sight so beautiful.

“Elodie.” Tenderly, so as to not disturb her rest, he took her hand in his.

She groaned and rolled on her side. Her eyes peeled open, and she yawned for a good five seconds before noticing him. For a moment she froze, her mouth open in the shape of an o. Then she screamed and threw her arms around him. She buried her face in his neck, and he held her shaking form, furiously blinking away a tear or two of his own.

At last she pulled away from him, though her hands stayed on his shoulders. A grin shined through the grime on her face. She laughed, hugged him once more, and laughed again.

“It’s you,” she said at last. “I mean, I knew you were you, and I wasn’t expecting you to not be you, but you were—and now we—it’s you!”

Martin couldn’t hold back a wide smile. “You make a frightening amount of sense when you’ve just woken up, did you know?”

“Really? I spend half the night watching over you, and when you finally have the courtesy to wake up, you poke fun at me? Martin Colter, I’m surprised at you.” She pulled him in a third time and held him close. “Don’t ever, ever, ever leave me again.”

“I won’t.” Then he stepped back. “I hurt you. Don’t deny it, because I remember everything.” This time, no amount of blinking held back his tears. “I hurt you, Elodie. Not just physically, which is bad enough, but I abandoned you.” He saw the brass ring she wore on her finger and cringed. “I broke my promise.”

She grabbed his hand to hold it firmly. “I’ve already forgiven you.”

Martin didn’t know what to say. “Thank you.”

She rested her forehead on his collar.

Then he asked, “What happened? Tonight, I mean. After you fought off Wolf—”

“Wolf?”

“The black trunder.”

“I didn’t know they had names.”

“Just nicknames I gave them,” said Martin. “Don’t think about it too much. Anyway, I don’t remember anything after that. It hurt, a lot. But then I just...you know.”

Elodie’s eyes glistened. “I can explain everything. Walk with me, Martin. This is going to be hard.”

* * *

Martin and Elodie spent most of the night walking in circles together near the hill, so they easily found their starting point when they had nothing left to talk about. Elodie went back to sleep, but Martin had too much on his mind. He sat on a thick root and watched the dawn turn the black sky to foggy gray. He thought about his time in the cottage with Fella, how she looked out for him from the moment he first met her, how she always exhibited a special sort of selflessness. But her…Nayadu…he couldn’t wrap his mind around what she had done for him. Alone with his swirling thoughts in the night, Martin wept.

Morning came cool and fresh. Dew glistened and thin mist twined through the forest’s ankles. The sky’s colors gradually panned the spectrum until the first rays of sun poked the woods.

Elodie woke up soon afterward, while Martin was still sitting on the root. She wandered off, muttering something about water and washing. While she was gone, Martin searched the area for signs of Wolf or Copper. He smelled nothing and found no trace of them, but he and Elodie couldn’t stay long. Wolf posed a serious threat even with a broken wing, and if he found them again, Copper would be with him.

Elodie moseyed back, having rinsed her face and arms in the spring. She tossed him the refilled flask. Martin drank it dry.

“That was for both of us,” said Elodie. “Now I have to go all the way back.”

“We need to move anyway,” said Martin. “We’ve spent too much time here.”

Elodie rubbed under her eyes. “I’m so tired.”

“Then let’s go back,” said Martin. “Nothing’s stopping us now. We’ll find Illo, cross the river, and rejoin the others for as long a rest as we need. Then...well, then we can go home.”

“It sounds so simple.”

“Maybe it will be. What do we have to work with?”

Elodie tapped down her fingers. “The knife, a wad of sticky prune mush, a flask that needs filling again, and sore muscles for weeks. At least I’m relatively dry.”

“Sounds good,” said Martin. He stretched his arms above his head. “Which way to Illo?”

“We’ll get pretty close if we circle the base of the hill. I’m not climbing that thing again. I’m pretty sure I can find her without retracing my exact steps.” She handed him the knife. “I’ll take the water flask. You take the weapon.”

“Elodie, this is a kitchen knife.”

She stuck her nose in the air with a little less enthusiasm than usual. “A girl has to be resourceful. It served its purpose, and I don’t want it digging into my hip all day.”

“If you say so.”

“Make sure you don’t lose it. I didn’t tell Podgin I was borrowing it.”

They set off to the southwest. The hill jutted skyward on their right and the sun rose on their left. They stopped at the spring for water.

Over the course of the next hour, Elodie had to pause a few times to figure out which way to go. “We’ll be able to see that green boulder over the cave from down here. As long as we stay close enough, we won’t get lost.”

Shortly afterward, however, she slapped a hand to Martin’s chest. “Do you smell that?”

Martin gripped the kitchen knife. “He’s back.”

Heavy footfalls pounded their way. Wolf exploded out of the trees at a dead run, his crumpled wing dangling at his side. Martin pulled Elodie to the ground just as Wolf leaped at them. Wolf’s momentum sent him crashing against a tree, but he didn’t stay down long.

“Run,” Martin hissed.

They didn’t have time to run. They hardly had time to stand up. Wolf charged again. Martin jumped in front of Elodie, brandishing the knife.

An arrow hissed past his ear and struck Wolf in the neck. The trunder drove into the ground and the arrow snapped under him. Wolf slid to a stop a foot from Martin and Elodie.

“Finally, a perfect shot,” said a voice from the trees behind them.

Martin and Elodie spun around. Illo dropped from a low branch, but her leg failed her and she landed on her face more than anything else.

Martin caught Elodie’s eye, a sudden weight bearing down on him. Sooner or later, they would have to face Illo with the painful truth.

Elodie shook her head. Not yet.

Illo got up with a grin. “What? As if you didn’t see that coming. I deserve a thanks and a title of some sort, don’t you think? Illo, Trunder Slayer and Champion of the Woods. Hmm. Yes, I’ll keep it.”

Elodie ran to hug her. Illo patted her clumsily on the head, nodding at Martin over Elodie’s shoulder.

“Good to see you back on your own two feet, hog-moggins.” Then she frowned. “Oh. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to call you that anymore. Sorry.”

“You earn your titles, I earn mine,” said Martin. “I am, more often than not, a hog-moggins.”

“But he’s my hog-moggins,” said Elodie, letting go of Illo at last. “I’m keeping him that way.”

Illo stuck out her tongue. “Yuck. You two can turn my stomach inside out later.”

“How did you find us?” Elodie asked.

“Sheer cleverness and a healthy dose of that thing’s fumes.” She pointed at the dead trunder with her bow. “I’m dying to know how you got back to normal, Martin, but it’ll have to wait. The red trunder wasn’t far behind when I left my tree.”

Martin scowled. “Copper. I was afraid of that.”

“Call her what you like,” said Illo. “We need to get out of here. That was my last arrow.”

Just as the words left her mouth, a familiar howl cut through the woods.

16. No More Running

Copper’s cry rooted Martin in place. The trunder wasn’t close yet, but it was only a matter of time before her predatory senses led her straight to them.

“So much for things being simple,” said Elodie. She edged closer to Martin. “I don’t know how many more trunder fights I have left in me.”

Martin thought quickly. “We don’t have to fight it, at least not all of us. You two run to the river as fast as you can. I can buy you some time.”

Elodie smacked his arm. “That’s the dumbest idea you’ve ever had. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Elodie, you can’t—”

“Don’t argue, Martin. I just got you back. Can’t you see we’re meant to work together? Sure, it’s easier when all we have to worry about are Cabbage Cart escapes and pig chases, but things aren’t easy now. They’re dark and dangerous, and that’s when you need me at your side the most.”

Martin turned to Illo for help.

She held her hands up. “Don’t look at me. I’m not thick enough to stand in that girl’s way.”

He knew he couldn’t win. “Okay, we’ll stick together. But we won’t make it far if we try to outrun a trunder. Wolf was fast, but Copper’s faster.”

“You really need to stop naming the animals,” said Illo. “Also, we don’t have to make it all the way to the river. Just far enough to pick our own ground.”

Elodie snapped her fingers. “The badger den by the grotto.”

“Right,” said Illo. “That’s what I was thinking too. It’s close by, and we’ll all fit without a problem. The trunder will have a tough time sticking her claws where they don’t belong.”

Copper howled again, closer this time.

“By all means, lead the way,” said Martin.

Illo and Elodie set the pace. Elodie helped Illo hobble along. Martin watched the sky and the trees, but he couldn’t see Copper yet, which was good news.

They assessed their meager supply of weapons without slowing down. Illo, having run out of arrows, grudgingly held onto the dryad spear. Martin kept Podgin’s knife.

“I don’t know what you’ll be able to do with that fungus slicer,” said Illo. “Maybe you’ll surprise us with a vicious throwing arm.”

“I guess that leaves me to fend for myself with sticks and rocks,” said Elodie. “That’s fine with me. I’ve already faced trunders with both, and they haven’t taken me yet.”

“As long as no one gets bitten,” said Illo.

Martin started to recognize the lay of the land. They were somewhere between the cave and the old grotto. He shut his eyes to ward off those memories, but a third cry from Copper snapped them back open.

“She’s definitely caught our scent,” said Illo. “I bet she found her dead partner, too.”

“Which will make her all the more dangerous.” Martin urged them to move faster.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost at the badger den. Once the trunder sees how hard it is to snag us, she’ll give up. She’s just an animal, right?”

Martin shook his head. “I don’t think she’s hunting for food or sport anymore. She sounds pretty mad.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” said Elodie.

Illo hissed. “I smell her!”

She sped up, no longer relying on Elodie’s support. The ground dropped without warning, but Illo slid down without hesitation. Elodie and Martin followed her. They spilled into a clearing. A dark hole opened under the roots of an oak on the other side.

“Quick,” said Illo. “Get in!”

She threw herself into the den feet-first, vanishing under the earth.

Martin shoved Elodie after her. “I’m right behind you.”

Elodie slid down the loose dirt into the den, but Martin lingered at the lip. The den’s mouth was wider than Illo seemed to think. Wolf might not have been able to enter the den, but Copper would have no trouble squeezing through the gap. Just as he realized this, Copper’s scent floated into the clearing.

“What are you waiting for?” Elodie grabbed his leg. “Get down here. She’s coming!”

Martin searched the clearing for anything to make the gap smaller. “Give me a second.” He spotted a mushroom-riddled log under a green tree by the bank. He shook away from Elodie and ran to it, the knife secured in his belt.

“Don’t go there, you idiot!” Illo spat the words out. “That’s a…”

A shadow passed over the clearing.

Martin planted a foot against the tree for leverage and heaved the log off the ground. He tried to drag it to the den, but he couldn’t move. When he looked down, Illo’s unfinished warning made a lot more sense. Roots curled around one of his feet, anchoring him to the ground. Anklesnatcher.

“Cut yourself loose,” said Elodie.

Martin motioned for them to be quiet. Sweat coated his palm, but he grabbed the knife and got to work on the root. The blade barely made a dent.

“I’m going to help him,” said Elodie.

She crawled into the open, checked the sky, and darted across the clearing. She made it halfway. Copper ambushed her from below the trees, her body a red streak.

Elodie screamed as the trunder’s claws latched onto her shoulders. Copper swept her up into the high branches.

“Illo, the spear!” Martin yelled. “Use it!”

Illo watched from the badger den. “I’ve never thrown a spear in my life!”

In the tree, Elodie kicked and writhed, but Copper had her pinned against a branch. The trunder swiveled her head between Elodie and her prey on the ground, as if trying to decide which of them she would have the most fun finishing off.

Martin hacked at the anklesnatcher with the knife until the blade bent. He cast aside the useless weapon.

“Hey!” He waved his arms, drawing Copper’s attention. “Remember me? I bit you last time we fought. You should take me first.”

Copper loosened her grip, and Elodie slid off the branch. She hit the ground at the clearing’s edge. Martin called out to her, but she didn’t move. He didn’t have time to worry about her. Copper came at him.

Martin raised his arms. He refused to go out without a fight. He might have stood a chance if he were still a trunder. As a human, one bite would finish him.

Illo charged from the den, swinging the dryad spear like a club, but her leg slowed her down too much. Copper knocked her back with a single strike. Illo crumpled on the ground in a daze. The spear slid out of her grasp.

Only Martin remained standing—not that he had much choice. His arms dropped to his sides. There was nothing more he could do except hope Copper finished him quickly. As the trunder approached, he looked past her at Elodie’s unconscious face. He had failed her. He had failed them all.

Copper’s warm breath smothered him. Martin coughed and gagged, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to see those teeth coming at him.

Something burst in front of him with an ear-splitting crack. Copper snarled and pulled back, cut off by a cloud of dust. Martin shielded his face with his hand.

A floppy-eared figure emerged from the cloud with raised arms and a puffernut clutched in each fist. “Mustn’t hurt Bramble’s friends!”

Bramble hurled the puffernuts against the ground with all his might. Fresh billows sprang from the earth, enveloping the clearing in a nutty haze.

Copper swiped low, but Bramble was too quick. He hopped over her paw and pranced back to Martin. At the same time, the woods around the clearing rang with war cries. Four great badgers leaped from cover. Their dryad riders struggled to rein them in, then brandished their spears and surrounded the trunder.

Tum greeted Martin with a fierce grin. “Here we are, thundering in to save the day! No merriment or rest or sleep when fetid fangs are near!”

Root and Nim and Nettle filled the clearing with their own hollering voices. Copper spun this way and that, but everywhere she turned, a dryad spear pointed at her face. She bared her fangs and howled, but the badgers stayed put.

Bramble darted up the anklesnatcher and hopped onto Martin’s shoulder. “Bramble is happy to see the real Martin again. Bramble has been sorry, but Bramble has not wallowed anymore! Bramble went to find sticky-soldiers for rescue-help, and now Bramble can be Martin’s friend again!”

He scurried into the branches. There, he unloaded his whole pouch of puffernuts down the tree’s hollowed trunk. “Must let go of Martin!”

The anklesnatcher groaned and shuddered like an animal. Brown clouds erupted like volcanic ash from the hollow. The root around Martin’s shin shuddered once, then went limp.

While Bramble bellowed incoherently from the safety of the tree and the dryads held Copper in check, Martin sprinted to Elodie’s prone form.

Illo picked herself up by the badger den, but she could only crawl away from the fray. She held an arm to her ribs, unable to stand.

Elodie groaned and shook herself back to her senses. When she saw the chaos in the clearing, she jolted up. “What on earth? When did the dryads get here? Why is Bramble dancing in that tree?”

Martin held her down. “Are you hurt?”

“My head’s full of angry bees, but I don’t think anything’s broken. Don’t worry about me. We have bigger problems to deal with.”

The dryad’s circle was falling apart. The badgers refused to get any closer to Copper, whose claws flew with renewed fury. She caught Nettle’s badger in the flank, sending it spinning. Nettle flew off and the ring broke.

Copper went straight for Illo, her jaws ready to crunch. Both Nim and Root flung their spears, but the hopping badgers skewed their aim.

Tum alone kept control of his steed. He spurred his badger to cut off the trunder’s path. Trunder and badger collided like boulders. The badger squealed. Tum went flying. Copper found her feet, but instead of staying in range of the dryad spears, she took to the air and dived at Illo from above.

Elodie squeezed Martin’s arm. “We have to help!”

Then another winged shape blasted into the fight. It was Aguilax, and on his back rode Podgin, clinging to fistfuls of fur for dear life. His feet bounced straight behind him and sheer terror turned his nose white. Podgin reached into a sack strapped to Aguilax’s side and pelted Copper with fistfuls of puffernuts.

The trunder avoided the barrage of dust explosions and switched targets. Aguilax drew Copper away from the clearing, but Podgin weighed him down. The trunder closed the distance in seconds. Aguilax spun and twisted, trying to shake her off his tail.

Podgin lost his grip on Aguilax’s fur and started to slide off. He latched onto the puffernut sack. The sack popped open and its contents spilled out in one massive bombardment right in Copper’s snapping maw.

Choking and blinded, Copper fell to the ground.

Aguilax landed beside Martin and Elodie with a triumphant smile. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is a prime example of strategical execution. Fancy this,” he added as an afterthought. “It’s odd to see the two of you together. I quite like it.”

Then he took off again.

Poor Podgin lay on the ground, sneezing and wheezing like a stricken duck. Puffernut dust coated him from head to toe. “Never again,” he sputtered. “Never again.”

In the clearing, Copper thrashed wildly, scattering the dryads like twigs. Two of the badgers were down. The others tossed their riders and fled. The dryads shouted after them to no avail. They were no match for the trunder without their steeds, and even Aguilax’s constant dives and slashes couldn’t slow her down.

“She’ll rip them all to shreds if we don’t do something,” said Elodie. “We can finish this now while she’s distracted.”

Martin kept his hand on her arm. “How?” Then he saw it. Illo’s dryad spear, half buried in leaves away from the fight. “Look. Think we can make it?”

Elodie nodded.

“I can’t use it, though,” said Martin. “Not with one hand. If I still had the knife...”

“I can do it. I know I can. All I need is a clear path.”

“No. I won’t...” He dropped his protest. True strength flamed in her earnest gaze. “You’re right. You can do it.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll go first.”

“And I’ll be right behind you.”

“On my count?”

She nodded again.

Martin shifted to a crouch. “One.”

Copper struggled to grip Illo’s kicking feet.

“Two.”

Aguilax dived one more time. Copper batted him away, and he couldn’t fly again.

“Three.”

They ran. Elodie went for the spear. Martin bellowed and charged straight at Copper. He struck her under the wings with all the force of his body behind his shoulder. Man and animal fell to the ground. Martin threw himself over Copper’s wings.

Elodie sprang onto the trunder, the dryad spear raised high. She yelled and drove the weapon down.

Copper shuddered once, then moved no more.

The stunned silence that followed lasted five solid seconds. Then a different kind of clamor lit up the clearing.

The dryads ran from hiding, pumping their fists and belting out a victory chant. Bramble scampered down the anklesnatcher and proceeded to dance circles around the fallen trunder. His ears bounced as he thumped his furry chest as if he had slain the beast singlehandedly.

Aguilax trotted over, looking immensely proud of himself despite the many bashes he had received. Illo dug her way out of the den and stumbled to him. Aguilax leaped into her open arms, and she hugged him against her chest.

Sitting up was enough of a celebration for Podgin. He rubbed puffernut dust from his nose, beard, and hands, along with an assortment of twigs and leaves. Then he surveyed the clearing and harrumphed.

Martin lay over the trunder’s wings until he was absolutely sure she wouldn’t spring back to life. Then he untangled himself and stood. Elodie beamed up at him from her knees. She still gripped the dryad spear, lodged deep in the trunder’s side.

Martin pried Elodie’s fingers loose and pulled her up. Her arms trembled, but her smile only brightened. Martin wrapped his arms tightly around her. Elodie rested her cheek on his chest.

Neither of them spoke. Nothing needed to be said.

17. The Hardest Words

The rest of the morning kept everyone busy. General Tum and his soldiers set aside a few minutes to mourn their two fallen badgers. Then they pushed them into the empty den and scraped dirt, leaves, and sticks over the opening.

“They were brave, even if they weren’t very bright, and they deserve a much nobler burial,” said Tum. “But we haven’t got a shovel. And who knows? Maybe they were little cubs in this den years ago.”

Then Tum explained all that had happened in the dryad palace after Elodie’s escape. “King Prickle was a nuisance for a few days,” he said. “He stayed in the pantry hall and only poked his head out now and then to shout at passersby. One day, he got up and left. A squad of my soldiers saw him cross the Minnowchuck and wander north. He’s been missing ever since, though I imagine he’ll come back when we least want him to. Nevertheless, with King Prickle gone, I reinstated myself as general. Being a general gets dreadfully boring without foes to vanquish, so I was thrilled when Bramble hopped into the palace pleading for help. Without him we would have never heard of your plight.”

“Yes, he saved our lives, in his own way,” said Elodie. “I’m afraid I ruined your spear, Nettle.”

Nettle beamed. “It’s okay. General Tum gave me a new one!” And he raised it proudly.

“Stop waving it around,” cried Tum. “You’ll chop someone’s nose off!” He cuffed Nettle on the head. “Anyways. Our job here is done. We’ll be on our way, though we’ll have to find the other badgers first.”

“Thank you for coming to help us,” said Elodie. “You four are the most gallant warriors I know.”

The dryads grinned at each other like nervous schoolboys. Nettle turned as green as tea leaves.

Tum bowed low. “Perhaps we’ll meet again someday.”

With that, Tum and his band left the clearing. Nettle turned once to wave, then they were gone.

Martin, Elodie, and the others had no desire to stay near the fallen trunder any longer, so they began the long trek home. Illo and Aguilax led the way with Bramble tagging along. Podgin followed at a sneeze-free distance. Martin and Elodie came last, too weary for much conversation.

They stopped at the banks of the Minnowchuck close to noon. No one disagreed with Illo’s suggestion to rest there before crossing, so they hunkered down in a shady bend.

It was then that Elodie took Illo aside. The two girls ambled downriver until they were out of earshot. Elodie motioned them to sit over the water.

Martin felt a tight pinch in his chest. He knew what they were talking about. Aguilax and Podgin watched as well, curious.

After a bit of conversation, Illo stiffened. Her legs stopped swinging, and her face went cold, staring blankly at the river. Elodie said a few more words, her hand on Illo’s shoulder. Then she rejoined the others. Her head hung low, and Martin could tell she was trying to keep her face from puckering up.

“What was that all about?” Podgin asked.

Elodie shook her head. Martin ran his fingers through his hair. He explained to Aguilax and Podgin what had happened during the night. Aguilax grew still when Martin told them of Nayadu’s revelation and sacrifice, but Podgin’s mouth dropped open. Martin ended, toeing at a rock between his feet.

For a while, no one spoke.

“I should have known who she was,” said Podgin. “It wouldn’t have been that hard to figure out if we’d kept our eyes open.”

Aguilax said nothing. His chin sank to his paws, and his wings drooped. Elodie laced her fingers through Martin’s. They waited.

The better part of an hour passed before Illo moved. She chucked a few rocks into the river, then made her way back to the group. Everyone watched her, though no one seemed to know what to say. Illo strode up to Martin, her lips tight.

Martin stood. He opened his mouth, trying desperately to think of something comforting.

Illo pulled back a clenched fist. Martin flinched, but Illo’s arm went slack halfway through her swing. A sob caught in her throat, and she buried her face in her hands and cried. When she recovered enough to wipe her face with her sleeve, she turned back to Martin.

“Fella did what she knew was right. How can I hold that against you?” She said no more.

When they were all ready, they found a fordable stretch not far upstream. By the time they made it back to the cottage, having decided to go straight there instead of Podgin’s house, growling stomachs filled the silence between them.

Illo held the door open for the jaded troop to file through. Martin, Elodie, and Podgin claimed chairs around the table, trying not to look at the remaining empty seats. Aguilax got comfortable in the windowsill. Bramble dropped face-down on the table with his limbs and ears spread out like wheel spokes. Soon he was snoring like a wood file.

As she had so many times before, Illo put water on and passed out cups of soothing tea. She went through the motions, but Martin could tell her mind was far away. She retrieved an arrow from her room. Then she sat at the table, letting the steam wash over her face.

“I want to bury her,” she said after a while.  Her voice was strained. “I know we can’t, but...I need to. Out back, in her garden.”

They did as Illo asked. Behind the cottage, Illo cleared away a circle of earth beside the flattened vegetable patch. Martin and the others gathered around her. She drove her arrow into the dirt.

“It’s pathetic, I know,” she said, her head bowed. “But it’s all I’ve got for now.” Her shoulders trembled.

Martin led everyone else indoors, where they finished their tea and set about cleaning up bits of debris left by the trunders, if only for the sake of getting something done.

When Illo rejoined them some time later, her eyes were red. “I understand a lot more now. Since the time she saved me from the sage viper, Fella had a heart for other people. I never asked why. To me, she was simply an older sibling. It was her job. But she was so much more than that, wasn’t she? I don’t blame her for hiding the truth all those years. Fella had to be a watcher for the woods and a sister for me. I never made it easy for her, but she just kept giving.”

Martin and Elodie decided to spend the rest of the day in the cottage. Podgin volunteered to cook enough food to make up for all the lost meals, and those who were able dragged the broken roof timbers outside.

“This cottage is older than I am,” said Illo. “I’m surprised the thatching lasted as long as it did. I’ll have plenty of time to mend it. Someday.”

The cleaning commotion woke Bramble. He sat up, yawned, and dragged his feet past the kitchen. When Martin went to look for him, the little creature had found an empty shelf in the pantry and was already asleep again.

The next morning found everyone gathered around the table for a late breakfast. Bramble dozed between the honey jar and the water pitcher. Illo picked at her plate while Podgin licked his clean. A tangible sense of unease settled around the table, as if everyone knew what to do next but no one had the will to do it.

Martin and Elodie sat together. Neither of them said it out loud, but Martin felt an understanding between them. It was time to go home.

Aguilax spoke first. “Well, then. I should get back to work. Our saltbox won’t restock itself, and I know a spot where pheasants like to roost.” On his way to the door he stopped by Elodie and Martin, rubbing his head against their legs in turn. “You two look out for each other, understood?” He hopped onto the windowsill, and with a whisk of his stubby tail he flew away.

Illo pounded her fist on the table, causing Bramble to wake in a fright. “No sense in putting things off any longer, I guess. Pack your things, not that you have any, and I’ll take you as far as the Turtlegabble. There’s no telling what calamity might befall us if you stay in the woods another day.” She grinned, but not without effort, and it was a hollow kind of grin.

“I thought you didn’t know that part of the woods,” said Martin. “That’s what you said when I sat here for the first time.”

Illo shrugged. “I fibbed because I didn’t like you. Do you want a guide or not?”

“We’re ready,” said Elodie.

At that moment, Bramble broke into miserable sobs. “Martin and the sun-drop girl must go back to bricky-village, and Bramble will be left alone, for Bramble has no home and no friends!” He flung himself down in such anguish that he rolled right through Podgin’s plate.

“Oh, stop that,” said Illo. “You can stay with me and Aguilax, if you want.”

“Bramble can live here?”

“I don’t see why not. That shelf in the pantry has your name on it, if it suits you, as long as you promise not to nibble anything.”

Bramble clapped his hands, delighted. “Bramble must go see Bramble’s new snoozy-shelf!” He leaped off the table and was halfway to the pantry before he stopped and shuffled back. “But...Bramble must also say goodbye to Bramble’s friends.”

Elodie picked him up and pecked him on the forehead. “Try to stay out of mischief.”

“Bramble promises.”

She set him down, and he scampered to Martin.

“Remember,” he squeaked. “Mustn’t poke a turtle blossom, and mustn’t eat a puffernut.” Then, his blue eyes pooling up with tears, he left the room.

“Shall we be off?” Illo stood. “Care to come with us, Podgin?”

Podgin peered up from a handful of mushrooms. “Illo, please,” he sighed. “I’m simply too worn out, and I stubbed my toe on the way back yesterday. I may never walk again. No, no, you must go on without me, as terrible as it is.” His nose quivered, and he licked his thumbs.

“Oh, Podgin,” said Elodie. Much to the little man’s dismay, she wrapped him in a tight hug.

“Thank you for everything you did to help us,” said Martin. “I know you didn’t mind it as much as you pretended to.”

“Outrageous lies,” said Podgin, but a toothy grin parted his beard.

“That reminds me,” said Illo. She ducked out of the room to the pantry, and came back with a short spade. She slapped it on the table in front of Podgin. “Forty-two steps straight across the brook, then six more to the right. There’s a red oak waiting for you. I think you’ll like what you find there.”

Podgin twiddled his fingers with glee.

Illo rolled her eyes. She led Martin and Elodie outside. “Now...let’s get you home.”

* * *

Illo knew every twist and turn between the cottage and the Turtlegabble. Without her guidance, Martin and Elodie would have been hard pressed to find the river. The woods grew quieter the closer they got. Then the Turtlegabble gurgled at their feet.

Martin looked around, wondering if he might recognize anything from his first encounter with Bramble. Nothing felt familiar, as though the woods themselves had changed as much as he had since that fateful moment. They followed the river and found the bridge, broken rail, tree branch, and all. He stopped on the first plank, taking it all in with a sigh.

“Branches don’t fall out of place willy-nilly, you know,” he said.

Illo came up beside him. “No. I don’t suppose they do.”

“Can you believe we’ve been gone for over a week?” said Elodie.

“It feels longer than that,” said Martin.

“Who do you think will be the first to see us come out?”

“With our luck?” said Martin. “Percy.”

“And to think they have no idea what the forest is really like.”

Illo cleared her throat beside them. “Trust me, as long as that’s the case, everyone wins.”

Martin and Elodie slowly crossed the bridge. Halfway over, Martin turned. Illo hadn’t set foot on the planks.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“This is as far as I’m going,” said Illo. “You don’t need me anymore. I...I should head back.”

“You could come with us, you know,” said Elodie. “Bardun Village may not be exciting, but it’s a good place to live. You could stay at the mayor’s with me. He has plenty of room, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind one more mouth to feed. We’d have so much fun pranking the maids together.”

“Thanks, but no. This is home to me. Always has been, always will be. Besides, someone has to tend to the garden now, and Aguilax doesn’t have thumbs.” A tiny drop glistened on her cheek. She pretended to scratch an itch and wiped it away.

Elodie went to hug her, but Illo backed away.

“Cut it out already. Can’t you see I’m trying to get rid of you?”

“We’ll sneak away for a visit now and then,” said Martin. “You know, to make sure the Champion of the Woods hasn’t burnt everything down.”

“Sure thing, hog-moggins. Elodie, keep an eye on him, won’t you?”

Elodie put her arm around Martin’s waist. “You know I will.”

Illo opened her mouth, but if she had more to say, she changed her mind. She hesitated, then hoisted herself into a tree and disappeared into the wild woods.

Martin and Elodie shared a nervous smile. They crossed the Turtlegabble side by side and passed through the silent oaks. Bells rang in the distance, little more than an echo, as the clock tower struck the change of the hour. They followed the sound of the bells.

18. Home

The back door of the Cabbage Cart Inn was locked from the inside, so Martin rapped his fist on the peeled paint. He stood in the shade under the sagging veranda and waited.

Evangeline Pig inhaled slop in her pen nearby without acknowledging his presence. Martin went over to pat her between the ears, shutting the pen gate in the process. A week’s worth of firewood lay strewn about the grass by the stable.

He knocked on the door again. Someone—it wasn’t hard to figure out who—bellowed in the building’s bowels, and footsteps hastened down the hall. The latch slid, and Percy Durbity opened the door, tenderly rubbing his backside.

“Hullo, Martin,” he said. “I thought you’d still be in the market square with everyone else.” He glared back down the hall and lowered his voice. “I wish Mr. Stump would let me go. I haven’t tasted a fruit pie since Mayor Clarenbald celebrated his forty-fifth birthday. Say, you can even hear the laughter from here! Just think, if I’d gone into the woods with you and Elodie, they’d be celebrating for me too, and I’d eat all the fruit pie I could fit in my stomach, even though Mother told me I ought not to eat too many sweets in one day.”

Martin patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t be too jealous, Percy. It’s not as fun as it seems. Most folks only showed up to gawk and whisper. We got back two whole days ago, and they’re still treating us like damaged children. Anyway, I’m here to talk to Stump.”

Hergelo Stump was one of the few people Martin hadn’t yet seen since their return. Percy, who had fainted cold when Martin and Elodie strolled into town looking like forest savages, went to fetch him.

A minute later, Stump himself lumbered to the door. His one exposed eye scrunched to match his scowl.

“I suppose you’re the cause of all the hootenanny in the clock tower square,” he said. “Everyone thought you were dead.” He looked Martin up and down. “But you’re not.”

“No sir, I’m not,” said Martin. “I’ve come to ask for my job back. Again. I’ll make up for all the days I missed, and you don’t even have to pay me for them. Please, Mr. Stump. I need—”

“Get in,” said Stump.

Martin faltered. “I’m sorry?”

“Get in before we lose Percy to a landslide of dirty pots—you’ll be washing those today, mind you.”

“Of course,” said Martin. “Right away. And thank you. Can…can you give me five minutes?”

Stump grumbled like a condensed raincloud, but he nodded his chins and let the door swing shut.

Martin rounded the pig pen to the back of the stable. Elodie was already waiting for him there. She sat on an overturned rain barrel, a mischievous grin brightening her face.

“Look what I brought from the square,” she said. She held up a tin with half a pie. “The mayor tried to keep this one hidden for himself because it has orange slices in it, but I found it anyway.”

She offered him a piece.

“I don’t know if I can eat anything after all the pride I just had to swallow,” said Martin.

“Then give it to Percy. Did you get your job back?”

“For better or for worse, yes.”

“Just like I told you,” said Elodie. “Stump can’t afford not to re-hire you no matter how many weeks you miss.”

“And you?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’ll take me a few days to get used to the uniform again.” She pinched the blue fabric between her fingers. “And yes, I put the ring back in Clarenbald’s drawer. That doesn’t mean you can break the promises you made, though. Those still count.”

“I know.”

Elodie glanced in the direction of the market square, where the music and voices were already dying down. “That’s that, I guess. Back to normal life. I’m supposed to be delivering Clarenbald’s payment to the bakery, and you have onion soup to make.”

“Anything to please the mayor’s speediest courier,” said Martin.

He dodged a smack aimed at his arm.

“Now that you mention it, though,” said Elodie, stifling a giggle. “Stump still hasn’t connected the dots. If you’re lucky, one of these days I might concoct another scheme to steal you away. No pigs this time.”

Martin agreed wholeheartedly. “No pigs.”

They listened to the fading festivities.

“I should get going,” said Elodie. She hopped off the barrel. “I suspect the Cabbage Cart will fill up quite a bit this evening, given all the rumors that are sure to start spreading about us. If anyone happens to ask about a certain cricket in a certain maid’s tea, it wasn’t me.” She winked and started around the corner.

“Elodie,” he called after her.

She turned. “Yes, Martin?”

“I...” Martin shuffled his feet and jammed his fingers into his pocket. “I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”

Elodie tossed her hair. “Why on earth would I do a silly thing like that?”

Turn the page for a special sneak-peek at the first chapter of Where the Woods Grow in Flames, the sequel to Where the Woods Grow Wild.

Martin and Elodie’s adventure has just begun…

Where the Woods Grow in Flames

Chapter One Sneak-Peek

A man stumbled through the trees. He bent against the vicious wind, tossing to and fro with each step. One hand held up his coat to shield himself from the gale, the other pressed against his bleeding and useless eye. The oaks leered at him and the wind cut like blades, but the man curled his lip and battered through it all.

Dusk darkened the cloud-stricken sky. The man snarled, quickening his pace. He had to make it out before nightfall.

The river opened at his feet. The man nearly plunged into the swift water in his half-blind haste.

“Turtlegabble, good,” he said, his voice all but lost to the wind. “Bridge. Where’s the bridge?”

With labored breath and ramming heart, the man fought the wind upriver for a quarter of a mile. There, he found the bridge.

“Just in case we need it, just in case ever we need to cross…”

Storms had raised the river. The water bit at the bridge’s belly, but the man didn’t care. He tore across, still clutching his eye. His foot slipped. He drove into the rail and felt the structure groan and crack under his weight. The rail held. The man made it across.

Past the river, the oaks grew young and green. The woods thinned and broke like waves up a sandy beach. After the last tree spread flat fields of wild grass. Then the village. All the man saw in the waning light was an unfinished clock tower rising from a tight mass of flickering lights amid the dark shapes of houses.

The man didn’t stop at the forest’s edge. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not now. He stepped out into the open field. Without the trees to ebb its force, the wind drove the man to his knees. He set his broken sight on the nearest farmhouse and fought across the field.

A stone wall cut him off. No time to go around. The man hauled himself over the wall. He fell flat on the dirt road on the other side. He pulled himself up again. The farmhouse was close.

“Hang on. We can make it. Hang on.”

The door was locked, the shutters bolted in place. The residents had turned in already.

Lightheaded, the man pushed through the gate and stumbled up the walkway. He beat on the door with a single fist.

“Open up, please! I need help, someone…” His mouth went slack.

A flame flickered to life inside, casting orange light through the gaps in the doorframe. The door opened. The man fell at the feet of a shocked farmer and his wife, both wearing nightgowns and gaping mouths.

The farmer helped the man up with his burly arms. He pulled the man into the warm house. There were hot coals in the hearth and a bucket of sand beside it.

“Oh, my. Look at his face.” The farmer’s wife still hadn’t moved from the door. The oil lamp trembled in her grip, the flame blown out in an instant.

“More light,” the farmer said.

He flipped the sand bucket over and helped the man sit down on it.

The farmer’s wife piled kindling on the coals and got the flames going. The farmer peeled the man’s sticky hand off his face. He winced.

“What happened to you?”

The man shook his head. “Not me.” His voice rasped and cracked, but it was enough. “Her.”

The farmer looked around. “Who? You’re alone, stranger.”

“Help her.” The man pointed out the door, across the fields, to the dark wall of trees. “Please. Help her. Help my daughter.”

Wind kicked the door shut. The man cried out and jumped up too abruptly. His head spun in a haze. He toppled over, hit his head on the fireplace mantel, and swirled into blackness.

…More tales unfold in Where the Woods Grow in Flames…

About the Author

Nate Philbrick is an adventure-driven fantasy author living near Barcelona, where he teaches English as a second language. He believes the primary objectives of writing stories are to do a good job entertaining the reader and to reflect the creativity of the Creator.

Nate loves to connect with readers through a variety of platforms. He sprinkles snarky nonsense on social media, writes mostly useless blog posts, and is a recent National Novel Writing Month participant.

Contact

www.youwritefiction.wordpress.com

Twitter @NatePhilbrick

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Where the Woods Grow in Flames

Coming 2017