Roads Less Travelled

Katie Alva knew that something was horribly wrong with her world the moment she opened her eyes. It was a glorious July day, the type of day that seems to get less and less frequent as you grow up; sunshine was busy streaming into her cheerful lemon-and-lime room, puddling on the fluffy blue carpet, sparkling in the wide-open glass eyes of the stuffed toys littering the floor. Outside bees droned endlessly through the leaves and white-yellow flowers of the big rosebush growing up the wall outside her always-open window (just outside and to the left and a little bit down, so that leaning out and stretching down and to the left she could just brush a few leaves with her fingers – one day when she and the rosebush were both bigger she’d pick flowers from her bedroom window), and birds twittered and fluttered and sang.

But the breeze was blowing from the Forest, and on that breeze Katie could smell trees and damp and the dark wild smells that always made her eyes widen and her imagination spring into action and her games move a little closer to the fence that separated the cosy tame cheer of the garden from the wilderness outside. The Forest – well, it wasn’t all forest, and her parents called it the Common, but Katie was never fooled into thinking that it was anything of the sort – was, on days like this, thronged with walkers and dog-walkers who used it for recreation unaware of the adventures that lay in wait. Katie wasn’t allowed to go far from the house on her own. Not that she wanted to.

She lay in bed for a while, wondering what the problem was. Something was missing… someone wasn’t there among the crowd on the floor… that was it.

Tank.

Tank was missing.

Where the mighty bear’s purple-dusted brown body should have stood was… a gap in which the carpet skulked.

Katie hopped out of bed and surveyed the rest of them, still arranged to watch the coronation of Prince Pinkyfluff. He stood lopsided on his book-dais, his little pink dog-face brimming with sadness, because his magic pendant had been stolen from around his very neck.

Katie stood in her Care Bears nightie, speechless as the throng with indignation. Prince Pinkyfluff’s paper crown still sat beside him, ready to be placed on his head, but without the magic pendant no ceremony could go ahead. It was the power and the protection of Katie-Land. And it had been stolen.

She turned on his guards, a demand for explanation ready, but the dashing swordsman R. Abbit had been pushed into the huge stalwart wolf Fang’s face, hiding his eyes, so of course neither of them could have seen what was happening until it was far too late. Of the rest, only Tank the bear could have fought off a determined thief – and he was gone.

“He chased after them!” Katie decided. “He must of! Well it’s our duty to go and help him.”

She dressed with all the deliberation of a warrior-princess going to war: her oldest jeans, because they had experience, the faded white birds-of-paradise t-shirt that had once been her mother’s, and of course the Trainers and the Coin With A Hole In It That Might Be Chinese, on a bit of string around her left wrist. In the world of Katie-Land, the Trainers were the mightiest weapon ever devised; and the Coin was powerful Oriental magic. She took her school-bag, emptied it of books and pencil-cases and scraps of paper, and started to pack for a quest. Well, a pencil would be useful; on reflection, she took three, as well as a felt-tip pen. Her sketch-book, tiny and battered. Her purse, containing a few coins and the piece of card on which her father had written their address – she knew it was important to be able to find her way home again. She’d need food – that could be gotten from the kitchen during breakfast. A Little Mermaid hand-mirror. A few lengths of string. A little plastic magnifying-glass. Two chicken bones. A purple torch. An old handkerchief, printed with violently red roses.

Her travelling companions were selected with as much care. She knew they couldn’t be too many; three, plus her, would be ideal. Fang, of course, was the strongest and cleverest fighter, and the bravest creature, in Katie-Land; he’d come with. The fiery young unicorn Icicle, who was the swiftest and nimblest of all the horses; and finally she selected the venerable Wooden Owl, who really belonged to her older brother, but had decided to live as one of the inhabitants of Katie-Land. They were all in awe of his wisdom and intelligence; and of course he could fly, which could be very useful in whatever lay ahead.

Questing knights had set off with less preparation. Katie hefted her bag, picked up her enchanted sword, the Star-Blade (which sometimes even she was forced to admit was a bamboo cane filched from the pile beside the greenhouse), and strode resolutely forth in search of breakfast.

***

A mere half-hour later, she was explaining to her straw-hatted and gardening-gloved mother where she was off to.

“I’m going on an adventure,” she said.

“Did you pack sandwiches?”

“Yes.”

“And a drink?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll be home before dark?”

“Yes.”

“And you won’t go too far.”

“…yes.” Privately Katie added, Unless I have to.

Her mother smiled. “Well have fun, don’t get lost. Have a kiss for good luck.” She pecked Katie on the cheek, while the questing hero scowled in embarrassment. “And one so you come home again.” That was more bearable; that was magical protection.

Thus fortified, Katie jerked and yanked and wiggled the bolt on the old back gate open, shoved her shoulder against the sturdy planks, and forced her way out of the garden and into the Forest.

Once she was far enough down the twisty damp-earth-smelling forest-tunnel that was the path – overhung, overgrown, and in the unimaginably distant past, perhaps a well-travelled lane from the town to her back gate – to be out of sight from the house, Katie paused to let her companions out of her bag. Wooden Owl flew out first, blinking and yawning, unused to the sunlight, and perched on a nearby stump. Icicle stepped delicately out and trotted a short way to loosen up her legs, swinging her horn near the ground. Finally Fang leapt from the dark confines and sniffed the air, his piercing blue eyes alert and ever-watchful.

“You can travel in the bag if you want,” Katie said to Wooden Owl.

The owl inclined his head in thanks and settled back inside. Katie shut the bag, leaving a gap so he could breathe, and hopped up onto Icicle’s back. The unicorn pranced, shook her mane, and bit off a single leaf from a nearby tree.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“That way,” Katie said, pointing down the path, and Icicle set off with Fang loping silently by her side. The Forest began to get thicker and closer, drawing in on all sides; and the big grey wolf grew more and more wary. Many times, Katie was startled by an explosion of movement in the undergrowth; but Fang would glare that way, and say that it was only a squirrel, or a rabbit, or a deer.

“We should find the Oracles,” he said after a while. “They always advise people who are on an adventure.”

“Who are they?”

“Owls,” the wolf explained.

“Like Wooden Owl?”

“No,” Fang said carefully. “They have never been in… they have no ruler.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve heard tales, Princess, that they ran away from their Prince.”

This was anathema. Katie shivered as the forest rustled with silent glee. “We’ll find them,” she said resolutely. “Where do they live?”

“In the Hedgehog Tree.”

Katie knew at once where that was. The Hedgehog Tree was named after its strange, brown, spiky fruits; in autumn they split open to spit out shiny red-brown conkers, that Katie loved to collect. But they always disappointed her by refusing to stay shiny once they had left the Forest. The Tree stood in a small clearing near the top of a rise, and Katie directed Icicle that way.

“Wouldn’t it be quicker to take a short-cut?” The unicorn asked. “Look, I can see the clearing through the trees. The path loops.”

Katie peered into the thick dimness of the Forest and, indeed, she could just make out the thinning of the trees that marked the edge of the Hedgehog Tree’s clearing. “Okay,” she agreed, uncertainly.

Fang was noticeably on edge as Icicle stepped off the path and brushed her way through the high, thick undergrowth. Oddly enough, no matter how far Icicle forced her way towards the clearing, it remained always just within view; and before too long the path behind them was swallowed up. Katie began to feel that perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Fang’s fur bristled, and he started to growl, low, under his breath but never letting up.

Icicle picked her way delicately between two horrible, thorny bushes; only to find herself trapped in the centre of a tight right of thorns. The gap behind her had vanished, and the long wicked spikes seemed almost to press in on the band of adventurers. Fang’s growling rose to a blood-curdling snarl as a hideous walking thorn-mass prickled its way out of the bushes and advanced on them.

“Princess Katie!” He cried. “Run! I’ll hold it off!”

“No!” Icicle reared up, Katie just managing to hold on to her mane. From inside her bag she heard Wooden Owl’s muffled hoot of alarm. The unicorn’s sharp silver hooves slashed through the air inches from the thorn monster, but it ducked with horrible speed and aimed a sharp-clawed swipe at Icicle’s leg. She danced sideways, almost pitching Katie into the ring of thorns around them.

Fang was ducking, avoiding, snarling, trying to find a point on the spiny-thing that wasn’t too sharp for him to bite. He got a slash on the muzzle for his pains. “Run, Princess,” he shouted again. “Quick!”

Katie shook her head, and drew her enchanted blade, shining like stars in the gloom. Spiny-Thing drew back for an instant when he saw it, before leaping in to attack again. This time he caught Icicle on the shoulder, making her whinny in pain and alarm; but Katie swung down with all her strength and the keen point of the sword sliced a vivid green gash through Spiny-Thing’s thorn-coated skin. It crackled in dismay, swaying; and that gave Fang the opening he needed. He ripped into the wound, widening it, spraying green blood-gunk over his grey fur; and Spiny-Thing shrieked like a tree tortured by gales, scuttling away into the bushes, trailing viscous emerald sap after him.

Katie and Fang exchanged glances. Icicle did not wait but half-jumped, half-bullied her way out of the ring of thorns and set off at a dead run towards the clearing. Once again, it seemed just through this stand of trees, just over this little streamlet, just up this short rise… but their trials were not over. Icicle caught her foot on a twisted, nasty tree-root, stumbled, and pitched Katie over her head to land with a thump and an unhappy hoot from Wooden Owl.

The princess and the unicorn picked themselves up. Katie was battered and bruised, but no worse than that; a quick check revealed Wooden Owl to be in much the same state. Icicle, however, was limping and clearly couldn’t carry Katie any further.

“It’s just a sprain,” she said, testing her leg. “But it’s too sore for you to ride.”

Katie bit her lip and peered into the forest ahead. For the first time in what felt like hours, the clearing was noticeably very close. Surely it couldn’t be that much further.

“Okay,” she said. “We can’t split up, so we’ll just have to go slower.”

“I don’t like it,” Fang muttered. “These woods are dangerous.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“I can at least carry your bag,” Icicle offered.

Katie wriggled out of its straps and fished out the longest piece of string. It was surprising how long it was; she managed to wrap it around Icicle’s neck and under her belly, securing her bag to the unicorn’s back. She shifted and stamped, and Katie adjusted and tightened, until they were sure it wouldn’t fall and that both Icicle and Wooden Owl were comfortable. Then the princess strapped her sword alongside, and they set off again: Katie with one hand on Icicle’s neck and the other tangled in Fang’s thick fur. After a short eternity of heading steadily upwards, they burst suddenly from the dimness of the Forest into the relative brightness of the Hedgehog Tree’s clearing.

It wasn’t a big clearing, and it was surrounded by big trees, so not much sunlight got in; but it seemed sunny and cheerful after the thickness behind them. As they approached, Katie noticed an insistent rustling at the base of the mighty Hedgehog Tree; directly beneath the dark opening in the trunk where, she guessed, the Oracles lived. She crouched down and parted the long, scruffy grass; and found herself face-to-face with an ancient, battered, half-bald, one-winged, scarred and faded owl. His single wing was pumping madly in an attempt to propel him into the air.

“Hello,” she said. “My name’s Katie. Are you an Oracle?”

“I,” the owl replied miserably; and from high above, two identical voices spoke, one after the other: “Fell,” “Out.”

“Oh dear. I’ll help you up.”

Katie picked up the old owl carefully, and stood on tiptoe; but she couldn’t reach the hole.

“Wooden Owl?” She asked. “Can you help?”

Wooden Owl scrambled out of Katie’s bag and flapped over, as two more owls dropped out of the tree. One was in slightly better shape than the one-winger, but not greatly; and the third was somewhat faded, but still relatively young and vigorous. With the help of the bigger Wooden Owl, they manoeuvred their crippled brother back into their home. They perched on the edge of the hole, youngest-to-oldest, looking impressively down at Katie. When they spoke, each said one word in turn; their voices were identical, but the impression was still odd; as though one person spoke through three mouths.

“You did a good thing,” they said. “You helped me. I am the Oracle, and you ask for help. Yes? No?”

“Yes, please,” Katie answered, in awe of the strange triple-being.

“I will tell you three things. One is advice. One is the answer to a question that you will ask. And one is the answer to a question that you will not.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Advice: only speak to those who walk on the path. They cannot do you harm. Now ask a question.”

“Where should I go to look for the magic pendant that was stolen last night?”

“Answer to a question asked: choose the paths least travelled and you will find your way. Answer to a question not asked: you can trust the frogs, even off the path. They always speak truth, but only backwards.”

“I’m sorry?” Katie blinked in surprise.

“It is not your fault. You did a good thing, and others will know of the good thing that you have done.”

The Oracles retreated inside their tree until the darkness swallowed them up. The audience was clearly at an end. Somewhat unsettled, Katie led her companions back to the path that they’d so unwisely forsaken earlier. Now the adrenaline-thrill had worn off she could see how battered they were; Icicle was limping and the cut on her shoulder was nastier than it looked, Fang’s slashed muzzle was clearly paining him, and she herself was discovering bruises that she hadn’t noticed earlier. One in particular was shaping up to be a sickly green and purple confection of the type that sent Katie’s mother into worried flutters no matter how often she demonstrated that they weren’t life-threatening. Only Wooden Owl was uninjured. He struggled out of the bag and gravely inspected Icicle and Fang’s dark blood-crusted wounds.

“The Spiny-Things often poison their thorns. It is not dangerous if it is treated.”

“Can you treat it?”

Wooden Owl blinked slowly. He looked vaguely offended. “Princess Katie, I have no hands. But I can instruct you on how to treat their wounds. First we must find water. I believe there is a river nearby.”

Fang nodded. “I smell it,” he said slowly. It clearly hurt him to speak, so he pointed down the path with his muzzle. Katie nodded and set off after him, Wooden Owl riding Icicle behind her. This time nobody even suggested leaving the path, which was muddy and narrow but unobstructed and noticeably less permeated by the menace of the Forest than the track of their ill-advised ‘short-cut’. It split a short way away from the clearing, but Fang’s nose was keen and he led them down the narrower, less trodden path that curled away downhill into a darkening swathe of denser woodland. The trees began to lean in a little more, meeting closer overhead, reaching out delicate thin branches that plucked at Katie’s clothing as she walked past. But they were on the path, and remembering the Oracles’ advice, she swallowed her trepidation with the knowledge that the trees couldn’t hurt her, brush as they might. It wasn’t long before they were well and truly off the hill and walking along the bottom of the valley between it and the next lift of the Downs. Katie could hear the dance and laughter of the river, and before long they’d arrived at its steep muddy banks.

Katie had to admit that as rivers went it wasn’t enormous, but she still stubbornly refused to leave it as a ‘stream’. She was certain it grew bigger downriver, anyway; big enough that you could ride a boat all the way down to the sea, if you’d exhausted the adventures offered by this place. But she didn’t think she’d get to that point, not ever. Anyway, the river was far too wide to jump, and too deep in mid-channel to wade. The bridge was ancient, mossy, built of timbers so set into the path on either side that they appeared to have grown spontaneously from the damp earth; but it was sturdy, of that she was certain. She thought back to what the Oracles had said and examined the area closely, but if any frogs lived here they weren’t about to show themselves.

“That plant growing into the water,” Wooden Owl said. “Pick the leaves that trail in the river.”

Katie scrambled carefully down the bank and did as he said, plucking the largest and wettest leaves she could find. They were about the size of the palm of her hand, and soft with juice; a deep shade of light green. They smelled of health, and fresh air, and good things. But as she was about to climb back up, another caught her eye. It was growing on a tiny mudflat a little way out in the course of the river, a large and healthy and incomparably lush specimen. Katie was certain, absolutely certain, that the leaves of such a splendid plant could only possibly be infinitely better for the healing process than the – suddenly small and pathetic – ones she held in her hand. Carefully, she stretched out over the rushing laughing water to pick them; but they were just a little out of reach. Still she refused to give up on them; Icicle and Fang were counting on her to get better and they deserved nothing but the best. Katie stretched further; she could feel she wouldn’t be able to balance if she leaned any more, but the glorious leaves were still a tantalising inch from her fingers.

“Princess, you’re off the path.” Wooden Owl’s warning hoot suddenly brought her back to her senses, and she pulled back from the edge, shivering at her narrow escape. She returned to the path and looked back. The beautiful plant had gone.

“Okay,” she said. “What now?”

“Take the smallest and plumpest leaves of the tiny creeper beside the path.”

Katie knelt down and searched around until she found the creeper Wooden Owl meant. It was indeed very tiny; she vaguely recognised it as something her mother had growing among the herbs, which made all kinds of sense. As a powerful White Witch her mother would naturally know of the best plants for healing. Katie selected a small palmful of the best leaves and looked to the Owl for further instructions.

“Fold the small leaves inside the large ones, and crush them together until the juice comes out, then bind them over the wounds.”

Katie did so, glorying in the rich complicated smell that rushed forth. The mixed juice was light straw-green and left her fingers tingling pleasantly. Rummaging in her bag, however, produced only the one handkerchief.

Since Icicle’s wound was larger, she donated the handkerchief as a bandage to the unicorn. Its scarlet roses stood out proud and incongruous against her snow-white coat, the green of the leaf-juice slowly staining the unprinted white cloth green as well. The unicorn snorted, sniffed the bandage, and nudged Katie’s arm in thanks.

Fang’s muzzle presented a greater problem. With no more cloth that could make an improvised bandage, Katie had to resort to another leaf; this one larger, more fibrous, tougher. Even so it wasn’t easy to secure it to his cut in such a way that he could still breathe easily, and speak, and if necessary fight. Her final solution was to tie it around his upper jaw.

Once she’d seen to her companions, Katie used the remaining leaves to wipe on her few scrapes and bruises. She wasn’t sure if it would help the bruises – the big one was really going to be a stunner – but it smelled nice, and felt wonderfully cool, and she didn’t want to waste any. When she’d done she left the crushed bits of leaf under a pile of forest-litter at the path’s edge.

“Everyone okay?” Icicle and Fang nodded. Wooden Owl had already retreated inside the bag, still strapped to the unicorn’s back. “Right. I think we should eat before we go any further.”

Katie reached into her bag and pulled out the package of sandwiches. She’d made four, two for herself and one each for Wooden Owl and Fang, and she’d brought an apple for Icicle. She shared the food out and they stood for a while, eating in silence. When they’d done she put the sandwich-wrapping back – so as not to leave a trace, or litter – and they set off once more.

Katie stepped carefully onto the bridge. The iron-hard timbers didn’t even creak, but they were slippery with water and slime, and she went cautiously, holding onto the shoulder-high rail. It was too wide for her to get her hands all the way around, but just the feel of the heavy wood under her fingers made her feel reassured by its solidity. Fang trod next to her, equally carefully and delicately, and last came Icicle. Her hooves weren’t ideal for getting a grip on slimy wood; she took little, slow, firm steps, and kept her eyes fixed on the ground.

So taken up were they with the care of crossing the slippery, treacherous bridge, they failed to notice the looming shadow that slipped out from underneath it and took up position on the path. Katie stopped so quickly she nearly slipped; there, blocking their passage, keeping them on the bridge, was an enormous troll.

The troll was even taller than her father; he looked like he’d been built by whatever strange organic magic had put up the bridge, out of the same materials. He had four fingers on each hand, long and blunt and gnarled, and his arms were as wide as Katie’s head, reaching nearly to the ground. His skin was knotted and whorled and dark shades of iron-wood and river-reflections, so that Katie could easily imagine him invisible in the shadows under the bridge, waiting to hear footsteps. She looked up, and further up, and even further up, until she was looking the troll in his ugly, doglike face. He winked one brown eye at her.

“Well,” the troll boomed, in a voice as old and heavy and solid as the bridge, “I see a traveller. Who are you, then?”

“I am Princess Katie from Beyond The Forest. Myself and my companions are on a quest to help our friend get back something that was stolen.”

“A noble endeavour indeed, Princess. But I don’t grow rich from nobility. You’d better pay me.”

“What should I pay you with?”

“A story, Princess, that’s what we trolls collect. A story. A nice long one with plenty of words.”

“But we have to move quickly. We haven’t got time for a long story,” Katie explained.

“Well then Princess. Maybe you’ll have to find another way.”

The troll shifted his massive weight, and she knew it was out of the question to even think about fighting him. She looked at Icicle and Fang in despair.

“Princess,” Fang said quickly, though muffled by his makeshift bandage. “A picture, remember…?”

“Of course!” Katie cried, and grinned at the troll. “A picture is worth a thousand words. I will draw you a picture-story and it won’t have to be very long because each picture will be worth a whole lot of words!”

The troll considered this for a while, then nodded. Eagerly Katie dug out her pencils and sketch-book, flipped it open, and began to draw. As she drew, she explained more or less what the story was about. It was a story her mother had told her.

“This story is about the mice that lived in a palace.”

“Your palace?”

Katie thought for a minute. “No,” she said at last, still drawing. “A different palace.” She considered the mice she’d drawn, then added a few more to create the effect of a crowd. They were, she thought, pretty good mice. “There were a lot of them, lots and lots, a whole kingdom of their own.” Then she turned the page, and started a new drawing. “But they were really scared of the two cats that also lived there. The cats used to eat them, by the bucketful.” A masterful rendition of two furry, feasting monsters; and Katie moved on. “So they got together to fight them.” Months of mouse-army-training were condensed into a single page of pencil drawings. “They had generals who decided that to protect them, they should wear walnut-shell helmets. These generals really thought they were special.” Katie paused to admire her group portrait of the proud, helmeted mouse-generals. “But the first time they went to fight the cats, the cats just looked at them so scary that the mice all ran away, just like that.” This was the penultimate illustration, echoing the first with its crowd of fleeing rodents. “The generals couldn’t fit back into the holes, not with their helmets, so they got all eaten up.”

Finishing her story, and her drawings, with a flourish, she removed the pages of cartoon and handed them beaming to the troll. He looked through them, nodded once or twice, and smiled back.

“This is a good story, you can pass.” He stepped aside to let the questing heroes continue, and watched them until they were out of sight around a bend in the overgrown, narrow forest path.

“That was well done,” Wooden Owl hooted, and Katie swelled with pride at the praise. On they went for what felt like hours, choosing the narrower and less-trodden path every time the track split, until they were walking over a path that had not yet been trodden bare. The grass and creepers and moss felt good and springy underfoot, and they moved quicker; hurried on by an increasing breath of menace from the crowding Forest that only grew thicker as they pressed on.

Katie called a halt at the banks of a stream, a tributary of the wider River; it was so narrow, and this path so infrequently trodden, that there was no bridge at all, only stepping-stones. Frogs plinked into the ribbon of water as the party approached, reminding Katie once more of the strange Oracles. That encounter seemed years ago.

Deciding that any help could be used, she crouched down and searched for the frogs; finally coming face-to-blink with a large, green-brown frog.

“Hello,” she said. “I am Princess Katie and I would be most obligated if you could help me.” Although she wasn’t entirely certain what obligated meant, it had the right sort of sound.

The frog blinked again, a lighting movement. “Yes, you help we’ll.”

Katie was confused for a second, until she recalled the Oracles’ exact words: They’ll speak the truth, but only backwards. Then she had to think for another second to decipher what the frog had told her.

“Thank you,” she replied at last. “Um, would you prefer me to speak backwards as well?”

The frog made a noise that was probably the amphibian equivalent of a laugh. “Need no, you thank no.”

“Okay. We are looking for our friend. Have you heard of any purple bears coming through this way recently?”

“Him see not did we. Went he where know we but. Know we, knows water. Ours is truth this. It for trade you will?”

This took Katie several whole minutes to work out, during which the frog sat blinking with damp green patience. Eventually she understood.

“Yes, I’ll trade. What would you like?”

“Things precious. Things bright.”

Katie got up and went to her bag. Digging through, she thought furiously about what she had left. Bright things… her fingers hit a rough textured surface, and she pulled out her purse. She flipped it open and shook out a handful of coins, some bright and new, others tarnished with age. She carefully selected five of the shiniest one-, two- and five-penny pieces, and knelt down again to speak to the frog. He examined the proffered coins with patient interest, finally croaking in satisfaction.

“Do will this. Water the in them throw. Truth our you tell will we then.”

Katie dropped the coins in the deepest part of the shallow little stream, one by one. They were really quite pretty as they sank, turning over and over, glittering like silver and bronze fish in the underwater light; the brightest thing, it seemed, that she’d seen for ages; at least since entering this particularly deep bit of Forest. Thinking about it, she realised how much sense that made. The frogs lived here all the time, so naturally they’d value a bit of brightness in the treed-over gloom.

“You thank. Truth the is here. Path correct the down going are you. Crow King of court the to heading is friend your.” The frog paused, blinking, to let Katie catch up. “Free for this you tell will I. Best the not is way direct the. Cave a is path the down way little a. Small looks it. Deceptive is it.” Another pause while she figured this out, her excitement mounting. “Way best the is that. Know we, knows water.”

Katie worked it out, realised the frog had finished saying what he wanted to say, and thanked him profusely before returning to her friends on the path. They’d been listening, of course, and so knew what she did.

“We can trust the frogs,” Icicle said confidently. “The Oracles said so. Although… entering a cave doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

Katie shrugged and began hopping from one stepping-stone to another. Midway across, a frog leaped from the stream and shouted to attract her attention. He succeeded in that; he also almost succeeded in startling her enough to fall in. Not that she would have exactly been swept away if she had, but getting wet feet was bad enough.

“Katie Princess! Thing true another! Wear you Coin that!” Katie looked at the Coin With A Hole In It, tied around her wrist. “Magic strong is it. Heal can it. Wound the onto it through blow.”

Without another word, the frog jumped back into the water and the shadows of his domain. Katie blinked, surprised by the speed of the encounter, and occupied herself while she crossed the slippery stepping-stones by working out exactly what she had just been told. By the time Fang and Icicle had joined her, the Coin was off her wrist and held ready.

“Apparently this can heal you,” she said, and took the bandage off Icicle. The wound beneath had dried to a crust. Katie bent down, held up the Coin, and blew through the little square hole in the middle. She was amazed to see the torn edges of the unicorn’s skin flow back together, like metal before a welding-torch, leaving no scar; only a flaky smear of dry blood. “Wow!” Eagerly, Katie pulled the bandage off Fang’s muzzle and repeated the magic. She replaced the Coin With A Hole In It on her wrist with new respect for its awesome powers, then used the handkerchief that had been a bandage to wash the blood off her companions’ coats. When she was done there was no indication that they’d ever been hurt. She looked around to find the frog and thank him again, but he’d disappeared; so she took the last shiny penny-coin from her purse and dropped it in the stream with the others.

Feeling more confident than she had since their quest had begun, Katie climbed back onto Icicle’s back and they set off once more, looking for the little cave the frog had mentioned. He was right in saying that it was only a little way; she had barely gotten settled riding the unicorn when she had to dismount again to enter the low-ceilinged place, scraped into the side of the looming hill. Icicle made little noises of horsy discontent, disliking the low ceiling that forced her to walk with lowered head, and the deep earth-darkness. It grew utterly black with startling swiftness; near the entrance the green gloom of the Forest seemed positively bright on the rough stone, but before long they were stumbling blindly. Katie halted after nearly tripping for the fourth time, and felt her way to Icicle and the bag on her back.

The purple torch made a satisfying click when she turned it on, and suddenly the area was flooded with bold white-yellow light. It wasn’t much to look at, just a low, narrow, twisting cave-passage with a spectacularly uneven floor, so they hurried onwards; Katie in the lead with the torch, Icicle next with Wooden Owl’s wide golden eyes peering around from her back, Fang with his keen night vision bringing up the rear. Icicle’s hooves were loud on the stone floor, echoing dully off the walls, but when she paused Katie was certain she could hear the distant giggling of an underground stream. She guessed that either the River or the stream they’d just crossed had its genesis here, which would be how the frogs knew it.

“Tank couldn’t have come through here,” she said at one point, when the water’s gurgles and the clopping of Icicle’s hooves were starting to be creepy. “He’s way too big, he’d get stuck.”

“I can fit,” the unicorn pointed out, seemingly glad to have a conversation to take her mind off the oppressive mass of stone around her.

“He’s wider than you,” Katie replied, and indeed the passage was only just broader than Icicle’s flanks.

They went on without speaking for a while, but just when Katie was beginning to worry that the passage was going to be very long, it broadened out into a larger cavern. It wasn’t huge, but it was big enough that the torchlight was dim on the walls. Icicle breathed deeply and tossed her head, her sparkling horn sending fairies of reflected light dancing over the walls and ceiling. And in that moment, the stone storm descended.

It was eerily quiet, like watching a disaster on an old silent movie; a long, articulated, many-limbed creature made of either stone or bone or maybe something halfway between the two rushed out of a side-cave, wrapped dozens of bony fingers around Fang, and lifted the big wolf easily off the floor. He gave a little howl of surprise and anger and tried to bite, but two long fingers held his muzzle shut. The creature swayed and stared for one long second, enough for Katie to see what it looked like but not enough for her to draw her sword, before it rushed back the way it had come; and only in the moment of horror and shock and confusion that came next did Katie realise that they had left the path behind outside.

“Follow, quickly!” Wooden Owl had climbed out of the bag and now he launched himself into the underground night after the creature. Katie and Icicle, as though released from a spell, hurried after him; the passage they ran down was only a little bigger than the one they’d come through, but hurry and fear constricted it until they felt like they were being crushed. It had gotten too narrow for Wooden Owl to fly properly, so now he sat heavy on Katie’s shoulder scanning the darkness in front of her torch-beam with his piercing golden eyes. And then they came to another widening, this one at least twice as big as the last.

This one didn’t just widen up and across, it widened down as well; the floor fell away to a chasm. Water’s laugher came up from underneath. Katie skidded to a halt on the edge, Wooden Owl flapping hard for balance, and watched in despair as the creature – still firmly holding Fang – scuttled away into one of many dark openings on the other side. Without a word, Wooden Owl flapped off and sat in front of the opening, looking in; Katie understood he was making sure they didn’t forget which way to go.

“I can jump it,” Icicle said uncertainly. “I’m sure I can jump it.”

Katie wasn’t so sure, but it was their only option; there was no way they could abandon Fang to his fate. She climbed onto Icicle’s back, gripped her mane tightly, and squeezed her eyes shut. She heard Icicle’s hooves clatter over the rock as she walked back from the edge; they suddenly fast as she took whatever short run-up she’d managed to find, her muscles humming and bunching under her smooth warm coat; and then there was quiet, and they were flying. Katie risked a peek and saw, underneath her, the darkness spiral away into the laughter of water. Then she shut her eyes tight again and waited the eternal second until the unicorn’s hooves struck stone again with a reassuring rattling jolt.

Shakily, Katie slid off Icicle’s back and looked over the chasm again. It still seemed impossibly wide. The unicorn looked back too, smiling with satisfaction, and allowed herself a nod of professional pride.

“Not bad,” she said.

Katie grinned suddenly and hugged Icicle around the neck. Embarrassed, the unicorn pressed on towards the way the creature had gone; and Katie rushed on with the torch into another winding underground track. This, however, was shorter and began to broaden almost immediately, until a little way along they came out into a truly huge cathedral of a cavern. This was far too big for the torch to reach the walls, but the floor was incongruously smooth dirt. Katie took a step forwards and froze as something crunched horribly under her Trainered feet. Swinging the torch-beam downwards, she saw that the ground was scattered with dozens and dozens of bones of animals she couldn’t even begin to identify. She gave a little squeak of fear but was reassured by Wooden Owl’s soft hoot.

“Don’t worry Princess, they’re only little animals. Even if they walk again they can’t possibly hurt you.”

Swallowing her fear, Katie took another step. Discovering that nothing horrible happened emboldened her sufficiently to take another, then another, until she was standing in the centre of the cave face-to-face with the stone-and-bone beast that had taken Fang. The wolf himself was nearby, in a cage made from crudely lashed wooden poles, looking very unhappy.

“Hello,” Katie said to the beast.

“Hello,” it said sadly in reply. It didn’t seem bothered by her in the slightest, which was something of a shock. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, love?”

That was enough to make Katie laugh; suddenly she recognised him. This was the plumber-electrician-magician that had come day after day for over a week until their horrifically troublesome boiler had finally been persuaded to be fixed. He and Katie had got along as well as Katie’s mother, who had strict views on the subject of small girls under the feet of professionals, would allow.

“We’re looking for our friend. But I think you’ve stolen my companion,” and she pointed to the wolf in his cage. Fang half-smiled at her but still didn’t look too pleased.

“Well love, I’m really sorry but you are off the path… so I’m allowed, see? And I am very hungry these days.”

“You can’t eat Fang!”

“Well, no, you’ve got me there,” the stone-bone creature chuckled heavily. “not all fat and fleshy as he is. But take the bones out, just the bones, and you’ve got a nice bit of wolf there. Bet he’ll come back quick, too.”

“…what?”

“Well, love, this is how it goes, see? I takes the bones, just the bones. And the bones, once the skin is gone, the bones remember; and their memories is what I eats. The bones remembers for a good long time, decades even, and keeps bringing back the remembrances. More than one meal on a nice big wolf like that, I reckon.” Seeing Katie’s distress, he added kindly, “I’m sorry, love. I’ll unlock the back so you can get out to the daylight easy, cuts a good long way off your journey if you’re heading where I thinks.”

Katie looked to Wooden Owl and Icicle for help, her hand on the hilt of the sword; she didn’t want to fight, but she was prepared to. The unicorn was staring at the floor, disconsolate, but Wooden Owl was visible only as a moving shape inside the bag. After a moment he reappeared, ruffled, his eyes bright in the gloom, holding two small white objects in his talons.

“A trade,” he hooted. “Chicken for wolf.”

“Chicken?” Instantly Stone-bone creature looked interested, and he clicked past Katie on his many crazily-angled legs to examine what Wooden Owl held. “Two chicken bones, bit old.”

“There are two of them. Two chicken-memories. And they will lay the memories of eggs.”

Stone-bone creature shut his eyes, humming with pleasure at the thought of fresh egg-memories. “Well, love, you’ve chosen your friends with care, that’s evident. Smart one, this owl.” He chuckled again and very carefully ruffled Wooden Owl’s head-feathers in an affectionate way, not noticing the owl’s affronted expression. “You’ve got yourself a deal there, Mister Wise.”

Taking the two little white bones, he scuttled over to the cage and pulled the door open. Fang padded out, not even bothering to return Stone-bone’s apologetic little smile, and stood protectively next to Katie as Stone-bone shuffled off into the dark.

“Come along, love,” he called behind him. “I’ll open the back for you.”

They followed the strange lonely creature up a slight incline at the back of his immense cavern home. He stood before a disguised rock door that Katie wouldn’t have noticed without being shown, peering at a swirl of rock with an expression of concentration she’d last seen when the boiler was busy throwing a fantastic tantrum. Humming to himself, he pressed and prodded and examined and peered, searching for the way to open the lock; until eventually he slid one of many thin fingers into a paper-thin crack, pressed slightly, and said, “Open up, darlin’.”

A small section of the rock wall obligingly groaned aside to reveal the shallow, high scoop-cave that was Stone-bone’s back porch, letting in thin, diluted daylight that still seemed blinding after the darkness underground. Icicle was first out, revelling in the sight of the sky through a tiny chink in the treetops above, closely followed by Fang who had no wish to stay any longer in that place of bones. Katie thanked the blinking, light-blinded Stone-bone, wished him plenty of lovely egg-memories, and stepped outside happy.

“That was great,” she said to the owl in the bag, as soon as the door had shut again behind them. “Really clever of you.”

Wooden Owl hooted in a modest sort of way, muffled by the bag; and Katie climbed back onto Icicle’s back and they set out on what, she knew, would be the final stage of their journey to the court of King Crow.

The path here was so little-used that it was nearly invisible in places; it wound and tracked and twisted steadily uphill along a truly silly route, but after their experiences with leaving it, nobody suggested a short-cut. After a long trudge, during which everyone was aware of the eyes in the treetops tracking their passage, they suddenly burst out into a wide circle of open space on the very top of a Downs-lift. After so long under tree-cover, it was a relief to finally be able to see the sky. Similar to the Hedgehog Tree’s clearing, but much larger, it was a break around a trio of oaks that stood like gems in a crown. The three trees were spotted all over with odd black fruit; as they approached, Katie began to realise that they were birds. Crows, rooks, blackbirds, a scattering of magpies; with a rustle and a flutter the trees around the edge of the clearing were suddenly alive as well. A dead silence hung over the entire scene. Perched on the unicorn’s back, Katie nervously swallowed and said,

“Hello, I’m Princess Katie. I’m here to speak to King Crow.”

A small blackbird fluttered from the central oaks a few seconds later and perched on Icicle’s horn. The unicorn snorted in annoyance but didn’t try to remove the little bird.

“I-I, I am the message of King-Crow King-Crow.” Katie was amused by the singing way the bird spoke, but managed not to laugh out loud; crows were not small birds and there were a lot of them gathered here. “We-we-we have seen your travelling-ling, and we-we-we are quite impressed. You-you seem to be a clever one-one. We-we-will grant you an audience, Princess Katie-ie-ie. Ride-ide forwards into-to the trees.”

Still with the blackbird perched on her horn, Icicle strode slowly into the middle of the triangle of bird-infested oaks. The blackbird chirruped at Katie to dismount and sit down, which she did; Icicle and Fang were also requested to sit, while Wooden Owl was directed to a fallen log. He perched there squinting around in the daylight, his talons digging little holes in the damp wood. The blackbird remained on the ground beside Katie as the air suddenly darkened, the trees unloading dozens of large, serious-looking birds who perched all over Katie, Icicle and Fang, until Katie was sure that she wouldn’t be able to move. Only then did she see King Crow.

He was immense, the biggest bird she’d ever seen; a vast gleaming crow, blue highlights on his jet-black head, dark cunning glittering in his black-bead eyes. He landed on a low branch, that would be above Katie’s head even if she were standing up, with a magpie beside him. Small for a magpie, she seemed a dwarf beside the enormous King.

“Princess Katie,” King Crow croaked, pronouncing the ‘ss’ with difficulty. “I know why you have come here. You are following your friend the bear, no?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, nodding, trying not to let her awe show. “He was following someone who stole something from my kingdom.”

“How do you know?”

“It was gone and so was he and he wouldn’t have taken it.”

King Crow nodded to himself and fluffed his feathers. The magpie beside him muttered in his ear, and he nodded again. “Your kingdom is the one of the Blue Moon Eye?”

Katie nodded again; yes, the magic pendant that had been stolen was the Blue Moon’s Eye. Then the realisation struck: King Crow must have stolen from many kingdoms, dozens probably, hundreds perhaps.

“Why did you take it?” She asked boldly.

“It is a magic thing,” he said, as though it was evident. “My wing-mage requires such items.”

Katie looked at the little magpie. “But it’s not yours,” she said.

“Now it is.”

“You can’t just steal things!”

The magpie wing-mage shrugged – a very expressive gesture from someone with wings – and the King assumed a strange expression that Katie guessed was what happened when you applied a smile to a beak.

“We can, but we have to give you a chance to get it back.”

“Otherwise it would not be fair,” the magpie added.

Katie folded her arms and glared at the birds. “Right then. What do we have to do?”

A massive storm of sound rose from the assembled kingdom of birds, even the ones sitting on Katie’s shoulders, until she had to cover her ears to block out the cawing. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, and for a second she worried that she’d offended them terribly. But soon the storm died away to a silence that clanged. The King cawed something in his own crow-language, and a pair of ravens landed next to Wooden Owl with a thump. One of them muttered to him, briefly, and then the three birds flew up into the highest branches of the biggest tree. Icicle and Katie exchanged nervous glances.

“The wolf,” announced King Crow. “His is the first trial, the trial of skill. If he can do a thing that the swifts can do, the first trial is passed.”

“I can’t fly,” Fang pointed out levelly, getting to his feet while the birds sitting on him fluttered and cawed irritably.

“We know this,” King Crow said with another bird-smile. “We know also that a wolf has a keen feel of smell. What a bird feels through her wings, you may feel through your nose.”

He flapped his wings once, as a signal; instantly the air was dark with scraps of black as the birds emptied from the trees. They filled the air, a solid tower of crazy chaotic dark feathers in the space between the three trees. Slowly they formed into a cylinder, a downwards gauntlet with two birds flapping in place at the top; their stillness odd set against the clashing whirlwind of the rest. One was King Crow, the other, a tiny black and white bird that seemed made of equal parts wings and elegance. Katie decided it was a swift. King Crow was holding something large and green in his beak; an oak leaf. When he dropped it, it fell with a lazy spiral motion into the hollow centre of the bird-tornado; and then it went mad. Each bird was flying with its wings beating in the most irregular way possible, creating air currents that would shame a hurricane. The leaf stood no chance. It barely even fell; every time one current knocked it downwards, another sent it spinning sideways and a third corkscrewed it right back up.

King Crow dropped something else; another oak leaf, but this was an old one, dead, faded brown. The two crazy-dancing leaves were almost indistinguishable to Katie. Meanwhile the swift was darting back and forth, eager to begin, but held back by awe of her King. Finally a third object was dropped; and this Katie was sure was a feather, a small fluffy underwing-feather that was so black and so shiny it could only belong to King Crow himself. Like the leaves it was seized by the turbulence of the tower and began to dance its way jerkily through the air. And then the swift entered the fray.

It was breathtaking, watching her fly; she darted and spun and danced through the air like a ballet-dance on a wire made from ice. The currents seemed to present no problem to her. Better than any surfer, with grace that cats would envy, she rode the crazy air-column while seeking out King Crow’s feather. Hard to see against the dark moving wall of dark birds that surrounded it, every time she approached a stray current would flick it away from her. But the swift was amazingly skilled, and the chase didn’t last long; the swift understood and anticipated even this chaotic mess of turbulence, and soon plucked the downy black feather from the air. Instantly the birds settled, breathing heavily from the effort of flying with no rhythm, watching their King with expectation glittering in their little bird bead-eyes. Forgotten, the two leaves fluttered to the ground at last.

King Crow glanced once at the triumphant swift, and flapped back to his perch.

“You understand now,” he said to Fang. “Catch the feather and you pass the trial. The green leaf, and you may leave in peace. The brown leaf…” he glanced once at the wing-mage, who hadn’t moved once, “…and all your magic is forfeit.”

Katie thought of the Coin, and knew there was no way they’d leave her with that. Fang shook the birds off his back and stretched, flicked his tail, and grinned wolfishly at the King of the birds.

“Let’s get going, then,” he said confidently.

In an instant the tower was rebuilt, but with a difference; it was broader, and much shorter, and reached to within a breathtakingly narrow margin of the ground, shutting Fang inside on his own. Katie and Icicle retreated to the margins and worried about what was going on inside as King Crow dropped the three items, and the dance began once more.

Through the tiny chinks between the walls of birds, Katie could see flashes of grey as Fang darted around; but it was too chaotic and too quick for her to tell even roughly where he was or what he was doing. It seemed like it had gone on far too long. She was sure the items had all reached the floor; she was sure they’d lost, and then suddenly the game was over, the birds were settling, Fang was opening his sharp-toothed mouth to reveal a wet, downy black feather.

Katie yelped in delight and hugged him tightly. He spat out the feather and King Crow nodded flatly.

“Well done, furred one. The next trial is a trial for you, Princess Katie; it is a trial of magic, and you will be competing against a’Aki.”

The little magpie next to him bobbed her black-and-white head in recognition. “That is I,” she confided. “We will have three pieces of this trial. In each one you must prove that you are my equal.”

The birds shuffled themselves around in the trees, some even taking up positions on the ground to see clearly what magic the mage and the princess would pull out of their hats. a’Aki nodded again, fluffed her feathers a little, and preened one wing; her head came up holding a single black-and-white feather. She transferred it to her claw, opened her beak, and let loose a torrent of what was probably song to a magpie, but to Katie sounded more like the old, ill-fitting wooden doors of her father’s garage creaking shut on a rainy day. The feather left her claw and floated straight across the clear space to a scruffy little rook, barely affected by the breeze. He caught it nervously, as if afraid it would suddenly catch fire, and there was a murmur of birdlike approval.

Katie despaired at first, but as she’d seen the feather soar like a javelin an idea had come to her. She opened her bag, took out her sketch-book, and carefully detached one page. She folded it quickly into a paper plane – she’d always been the best at making paper planes – and sent it flying prettily over to the wing-mage. It struck the tree behind her and dropped sadly to the ground. The birds nodded, King Crow clacked his big beak, and a’Aki narrowed her eyes, clearly irritated by Katie’s refusal to fall at the first hurdle.

“So, the second piece,” she announced, and fluffed her feathers again. This time they remained fluffed, and her head sank, her eyes shut, her beak working slightly. She shuffled sideways on mincing claws. And all of a sudden something extraordinary happened; the white parts of a’Aki’s two-tone body began to glow softly, as though illuminated by her own private shaft of sunlight. The glow built up until it was really quite pronounced; she held it for a few seconds before shaking herself to break the spell.

“I can do that,” Katie replied, and shuffled across on the ground to be near a shaft of sunlight. Once there, she produced her Little Mermaid hand-mirror, held it in the beam of light, and angled it so that an invisible finger of warm afternoon illumination reached out and gently stroked the magpie. She jerked, paused, glanced up, and exchanged a look with King Crow, who nodded once. Katie let her breath out; she’d passed the second stage of the trial.

a’Aki jumped from her perch and landed with a thump on the leaf-covered ground. She hopped deliberately over to Katie, stopping just before the princess’s folded knees, and picked up a dry leaf that King Crow had dropped during Fang’s trial. Standing on one claw, she held it up and croaked a single harsh word while glaring daggers at the wisp of plant death. It burst into flame and the surrounding birds burst into raucous approval, cawing and flapping and hopping up and down until the leaf had burnt out and King Crow had to shout to silence them. The magpie wing-mage fluttered tiredly back to her branch, and looked triumphantly at Katie.

In reply, Katie nodded coolly and retrieved her fallen paper plane. Smoothing it out, she positioned her little plastic magnifying-glass in the sunlight above it, moving it in and out until the warm caress of the afternoon sunshine had been focused into a tiny needle of blinding white fury. Little wisps of smoke began to billow from the paper; Katie moved the magnifying-glass in an irregular circle, burning as she went, until a disk of paper had been scorched away. She detached it, and held up the two bits of warm paper.

There was a long breathless moment, as King Crow deliberated; and then, decisively, he nodded. The birds exploded into a cacophony of admiration; a’Aki, fuming, slipped away. The birds’ cheering died away as King Crow parted his beak slightly, clearly wishing to speak.

“Princess Katie is the winner. You have won the second trial. The last is the simplest; your magic is in the place of storage which is a’Aki’s home in this tree. Your friend who can fly has been shown it. Now the unicorn must convince him to bring it down for you. This is the trial of friendship, and it is the most important thing that you have to know.”

As he’d been speaking, Wooden Owl had swooped soundlessly down and landed next to him. He turned an impassive golden stare on Icicle as the startled unicorn got to her hooves and trotted over.

“Well?” She asked nervously. “Get the pendant and let’s go home.”

Wooden Owl shrugged. “I may stay here,” he hooted softly. “They have shown me many interesting things that I will never get to see, should I return to live in the land of Princess Katie. There is so much that I can learn.”

“But she’s our Princess,” the unicorn said.

“She is not my princess,” Wooden Owl corrected gently.

Icicle glanced helplessly at Katie and Fang. “Well you don’t have to come but at least get the pendant for us.”

“That would be against the rules.” Wooden Owl drew himself up. “I am sorry. But the ceremony can go ahead without the pendant; Princess Katie’s Coin With A Hole In It is protection enough for a kingdom.”

“But… you’re our friend,” Icicle tried. “Come on.” Wooden Owl looked unmoved. “Don’t you remember the time Fang was ill and we had to bargain with the Counting Mice to get his medicine? Or when Penguin was framed for theft?”

“Childish pranks.” Wooden Owl said.

The unicorn stamped her hoof in irritation. “I don’t think Orange Cat’s plan to steal the wind was a prank,” she snapped, and Wooden Owl nodded despite himself. She pressed on. “You came to live with us for a reason, right? In the Princess’s brother’s kingdom you had nobody to talk to. As soon as you came to Katie-land everyone was your friend. We even made you our judge the first day you came!”

Wooden Owl was looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I have to move on,” he tried, but Icicle cut him off.

“That’s not true at all! You said, when you were helping build the Mobile Country, that you could live in Katie-land forever.”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“Well maybe you weren’t and if you stay here you can’t ever come back. Come on. Please? You’re our friend, Wooden Owl. And you can’t dislike us as much as you’re trying to pretend. I remember when the Black Rat was around, you volunteered right away to go with Captain Razor and Tigger and Frost to hunt it down.”

Despite himself, Wooden Owl smiled at the memory. “That was a good time,” he admitted.

“And what about us now? If we come back and we’ve failed nobody will like us again. If we come back and we’ve won then we’ll be heroes!”

“We already are,” Wooden Owl pointed out. “For the reasons you have already mentioned… and several others.”

“We’ll have the best story ever to tell,” Icicle said. “But only if you come back with us. Only if we win. You’ll come, won’t you?”

There was an endless moment in which Wooden Owl agonised. He glanced back and forth from Icicle to King Crow, Katie to the tree in which a’Aki lurked with her hoard of stolen magics, Fang to the assembly of silent black birds. The only noise was the trees whispering to each other in the breeze. And then he launched himself off the branch and flapped heavily back to a’Aki’s store-tree. Icicle slumped, and gave Katie a despairing look; but Fang wasn’t so easily disheartened.

“Look,” the wolf pointed out. “He’s coming back.”

And indeed Wooden Owl, after disappearing for a second into the foliage, had begun a lazy slow glide back to the ground, carrying a bright string of silver in his claws. A pearly blue stone, sparkling and shining with magic, dangled from it. Katie cheered and hugged Icicle around the neck.

“You did it!” Katie shouted, jumping up and down with excitement. Reverently, she took the magic blue stone back off Wooden Owl and hung it around her neck to keep it safe for the journey home. Icicle blushed, and Wooden Owl huffed, and Fang looked warily at the muttering crowd of birds. But King Crow was regarding them with flat calm, not anger.

“Let the bear go,” he ordered.

A contingent of rooks detached themselves from the crowd in the tree-tops and flapped off into the nearby forest. A roar from that direction sent shivers running through the kingdom of the birds; moments later, a huge purple-brown bear bounded into the clearing and threw himself at Katie’s feet in a very enthusiastic bear-bow.

“Are you okay?” She asked anxiously.

“Princess, these birds could not scratch me, I am excellent, if a little irritated with myself that I did not manage to retrieve what was stolen from you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fang said. “You should have taken a friend with, that’s all.”

Tank nodded sheepishly, and spared a glance for King Crow. “I think we should be leaving now.”

“Yeah.” Katie got back onto Icicle’s back and helped Wooden Owl into the bag behind her. Fang loped ahead, staring down any bird foolish enough to catch his eye, and Tank brought up the rear. King Crow had flown away the moment she’d risen, and the other birds had started to disperse; until by the time they had reached the forest path, and the way home, all there was left of the court of King Crow were a few black feathers snagged in the long, scraggly wild grass.