OR THREE DAYS, KING SILVERBIRCH did not send for Urchin. Trail, when she brought food, said that the king was deciding on his strategy, and Bronze said smugly that the king and Smokewreath were still arguing about what to do with him. Apart from that they barely spoke to him, and nobody came into his cell, which was what Urchin wanted. He needed to be left alone to attend to Juniper; Juniper was desperately ill.
Urchin had hidden him in a deep nest of cushions in a corner, where he lay tightly huddled and shivering, though his paws were hot. When the guards brought food, Urchin would sit on the windowsill kicking his paws restlessly to conceal any rustlings from the nest, and as soon as they had shut the door he would force water between Juniper’s clenched teeth. Juniper was far too ill to eat anything, but Urchin knew he should drink.
In a hushed voice he whispered to him, telling him stories of Mistmantle, singing their homeland songs, and wondering what he would do without Juniper to look after. Go mad, probably, shut in a stone cell in the long summer days. Looking longingly down from the barred window, he saw animals trundling barrows about, exchanging brief chats about their work—he knew they weren’t happy or free, but at least they were outside.
In the days when Husk had controlled King Brushen, Mistmantle animals had been burdened with long hours of hard work, but it had never been as bad as this. Mistmantle animals had never been so miserable and dispirited. The idea that they might have been, if Husk had finally triumphed, was a thought that chilled his skin. Angrily, he kicked the window seat and promised himself that he would go home.
He promised Juniper, too, as he whispered into the nest. The Heart would bring them home, and home was worth staying alive for. He talked to him of Mistmantle, of the woods in autumn, and wriggling through fallen leaves to gather up baskets full of nuts. He talked about gathering around fires with scalding soup and hot walnut bread, and of brilliant winter mornings when the snow dazzled, icicles hung like a necklace around Fir’s turret, and there were snowball fights in every clearing and slides on every hill. He talked of spring, with the first breaths of warm air ruffling the fur, and primroses in the wood, and summers when high color was everywhere, and the woods were full of sweet soft berries that looked like jewels and tasted of sunshine.
He felt the dryness of Juniper’s paws and nose, and wished there was somebody like Mother Huggen or Fir, who would know how to look after him. “All this about the mists not letting anyone go back,” he said, thinking aloud, “it can’t be that simple. Brother Fir says the mists are there to protect Mistmantle, so if you have to get back for the sake of the island, surely there must be a way. The Heart must have made a way. I could get us home with swans again. That was what they suggested, when they were pretending they cared what happened to me. But it’s a long way; it may be too far for swans.”
In the silence that followed, Juniper’s breathing seemed slow and wheezy. It sounded like a struggle. Every breath was harder, and after each one was a long and terrifying pause, as if the next would never come. Urchin found he was holding his own breath, too.
The wheezing grew longer and louder, and Urchin heaped the cushions more tightly around Juniper, glancing nervously at the door. When Bronze opened the door to bring in food, Urchin leaped to the fireplace and scratched at it noisily.
Bronze grinned. “No good sharpening your claws,” he said, and banged down the tray. “You’ve had it. The wind’s changed.” He clanked the door shut behind him, and there was nothing for Urchin to do but watch Juniper, tip water into his mouth, and pray.
“Come on, Juniper,” he whispered. “Please. Just keep breathing. Oh, Heart help him, please.”
The shadows grew longer. The light faded. The day cooled. Just take the next breath. And the next.
A thundering from beyond Urchin’s cell made the room shake. Urchin flung himself over Juniper. Another crash followed, with the ringing of iron, the splintering of wood, and the king’s voice in screaming rage.
“Kill who you like!” he screeched. “Kill anyone! Plague and pestilence on Crispin of Mistmantle and his minions! Get that filthy squirrel down here and cut him into little pieces!”
Paws were running upstairs and along the corridor. Urchin snatched the log basket, his ears sharp, his claws flexed. If he could heave the table and the log basket against the door, it would at least hold them off for a while. But as he barricaded the door he heard more animals running, dozens and dozens of them, in all directions. Some were running to his cell. They were louder, faster, nearer. He heard the clank of bolts and locks on the cell door, and nothing else.
Nothing at all. There was no wheezy breathing. The cell door crashed open with a force that flung the furniture spinning across the floor. In the doorway stood the helmeted commander.
“Whatever you’re planning,” she snapped, “forget it.” She stepped in and banged the door shut behind her.
Padra returned to the tower from patrolling the shores as the night air grew cool and the waves hushed softly on the shore. Far away, near the mists, lanterns glowed from sterns and masts. That was the watch for Urchin. Urchin’s lights. A lamp moved in a high corridor, and he mentioned it when he reported to Crispin in the Throne Room.
“That’ll be Tay again,” said Crispin. “She’s educating the Whitewings prisoners in the laws and the histories. They need to learn that we’re reasonable animals with good laws. But Lord Treeth won’t let her anywhere near him. We’ve had to take everything breakable out of his room.”
“Which must be practically everything,” said Padra. “Aspen did like delicate things. What about Scatter?”
“She loves it,” said Crispin. “I’m sure the law bores her, but she soaks up the stories.” He picked up a dish of blackberries from the table. “I’m going with her this time.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” said Padra, and walked with Crispin to the well-guarded corridor where Tay waited, stroking her whiskers. Gorsen stomped to attention. He had groomed himself until his fur gleamed, and smelled of spices.
“His Majesty King Crispin and Mistress Tay to see the prisoners!” he barked out. From Lord Treeth’s chamber came a curse and a crash as something hit the door.
“Have fun,” said Padra as he bowed and left them. When Gorsen unlocked Scatter’s cell, she sprang up, her eyes wide, and curtsied deeply.
“Your Majesty!” she gasped.
“Mistress Tay has kindly allowed me to help her tonight,” said Crispin. “Would you like some blackberries?”
Crispin perched on the bed. Tay drew herself up to give a long explanation of when prisoners were allowed out of their cells, and how much they should be guarded, and and in what circumstances treats, such as blackberries, could be brought to the cell, and Scatter’s eyes strayed constantly to Crispin’s face.
When Tay was about to start on another subject, Crispin said, “Thank you, Tay. Now, Scatter, what sort of story would you like? A squirrel, a mole, a hedgehog, or an otter?”
The night before, Tay had told Scatter a terrifying story about a monstrous mole called Gripthroat. She hadn’t slept after that. But she liked otters. There weren’t any on Whitewings.
“An otter, please,” she said.
“There was an otter called Arder,” began Crispin. “He had three daughters, and his wife was dead. Many otters from other islands swam under the mists to Mistmantle, and Arder’s two older daughters had married two of these otters and left the island with them. Poor Arder only had his youngest daughter left. Her name was Westree. He fretted and worried when he saw the handsome male otters swimming to the island and the young girl otters flirting and falling in love. He was desperate to keep Westree on Mistmantle.
“He tried to get her to marry a Mistmantle otter, but she didn’t like any of them enough. So he ordered her to have nothing to do with the visiting otters, but she couldn’t help meeting them when she went for a swim, and, as she said, it was only polite to talk to them. After that, Arder said Westree should never go anywhere without him. Father and daughter had such terrible rows that they could be heard by the squirrels on top of Falls Cliffs, who complained to the king.
“Westree had always done as she was told, but she felt her father was being unreasonable. If he made her stay in their home, she would find a way out as soon as his back was turned, and run away along the shore to meet her friends. When they went swimming, she was fast enough to leave him behind and hide under the nearest boat until he swam away to look for her. If they went out in a boat, she’d slip over the side, tip it over with him in it, and escape. He even made a cage for her at night so that she couldn’t escape while he slept, but she bit through the bars and ran away.
“Finally, he went to see Sister Tellin the priest and begged her to help him. And Sister Tellin said, ‘She must have her freedom, because her life is her own, not yours. If she leaves us, she must leave for love. If she stays with us, she must stay for love. If you force her to stay, you take away her freedom and the choices of her love; and love will die in her, and you will see her grow miserable. Let her be free.’
“It was not the advice that Arder wanted to hear, but in his heart he knew that she was right. So he gave Westree her freedom, though the thought that she might leave him hurt him deeply.”
“And did she leave?” asked Scatter anxiously.
“No, she didn’t,” said Crispin. “She was free to go. And because she was free, she lived happily on the island for the rest of her life.”
“But…” began Scatter, and stopped.
“Is there something you want explained, Scatter?” asked Tay.
“No, it’s all right, ma’am,” said Scatter quickly.
“Then good night,” said Crispin. “Tay, we are keeping Scatter up very late.”
Scatter hadn’t quite understood that story. Why would Westree want to leave Mistmantle? Why would anyone? But as Crispin rose to go, she remembered the other question she wanted to ask.
“Excuse me,” she said, looking nervously from one to the other and not sure which to ask, “what does ‘expendable’mean?”
“Expendable,” said Tay, “means ‘unnecessary, not needed.’If something is expendable, it is something you can do without.”
“All right, Scatter?” said Crispin.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, and when the door shut she sat down miserably on the bed. So that was what Lord Treeth thought about her. Scatter is expendable. She curled up in a lonely knot of fur.
Urchin only stared. There was no escape, no time even to think of it. The squirrel commander pulled off her helmet to reveal red-gold fur and a face that didn’t go with the helmet and the sharp voice, and said softly, “Where’s Juniper?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She whisked the covers from the bed and, not finding anyone, pushed aside the cushions and snatched up Juniper. Urchin darted forward, but he stopped suddenly. Juniper was breathing again, and the squirrel was looking down at him with such concern that he knew he had to trust her.
“How long has he been like this?” she demanded, pressing her ear to Juniper’s chest. “I’m Cedar.”
Cedar! It was the name Juniper had told him, and the relief flooding Urchin was almost as good as freedom. But he had only ever seen her as a commander who advised the king.
“I know you’ve seen me in the High Chamber,” she went on, speaking quickly and quietly. “I’m a Commander of the Inner Watch, yes, and the king thinks I’m his loyal servant. I’ll explain it all later, but you have to trust me. All you have to know is that if anybody hears a word about Larch, Flame, or anyone to do with them, we’re all dead, do you understand?”
“I understand,” said Urchin, watching her. “Juniper’s been ill since he got here, but he told me I had to meet you.”
“I would have come before,” she whispered, “but I never had the chance, with the king being…” She stopped suddenly and sat up, her ears twitching. Paws were still scurrying about, dozens of them in all directions. From somewhere in the gallery, Granite was barking out orders. Cedar let go of Juniper, leaped past Urchin to the door, and stood with her back to it.
“Filthy freak, you’re crawling, you’re verminous!” she screeched. “Even your lice have got lice!”
“What?” said Urchin.
“Don’t answer back!” she snarled.
Urchin didn’t know what this was about, but he was insulted. “I haven’t got lice!” he said.
“I’m very pleased to hear it,” said Cedar quietly. “But as long as the guards think you have, they’ll stay out.” She flung open the door, yelled, “Bring me my satchel!” and banged it shut again. Then she knelt beside Juniper and cradled his head in her lap.
“They’ll think I’ve sent for my satchel to get the stuff that repels lice,” she whispered. “Really I want something for Juniper. All that time in the sea must have made him seriously ill. You’ve done well to keep him alive.”
It was a long time since anyone had told Urchin he’d done well, and the words warmed him. “I know all about you, Urchin,” she said, and glanced toward the door. “I’ll have to do a bit more shouting, so they don’t get suspicious.”
She stood by the door again, yelled, “Stand still in that corner, and don’t come near me with your vermin!” then darted back to kneel quietly beside Juniper again. Though she held Juniper’s wrist, she was watching Urchin, studying his face as if she were searching for something.
“I don’t know if you really are the one to save this island,” she said at last. “It certainly needs saving. But you shouldn’t have been dragged here like this. You’re in great danger, and it’s up to me to get you home.”
“Home?” said Urchin gladly, his ears twitching. “When?”
“Don’t raise your hopes,” said Cedar. “We’ve had a setback. The king’s raging and both ranks of the Fortress Watch are on alert, so there’s something going on, but I don’t know what. We wanted to get you out tonight. The king was planning a party to celebrate capturing you, so I thought the Outer Watch would all be too drunk to notice anything. But all that’s changed. Suddenly the tunnels are crawling with guards, and the Outer Watch are everywhere. I’m sorry, Urchin, we can’t get you out tonight.” She looked at him with a kindness and understanding that reminded Urchin of someone, but he didn’t know who. “But we will get you out.”
Somebody knocked at the door, and Urchin pushed the cushions around Juniper again. Cedar marched to the door, snatched a battered old satchel from whoever was there, and exchanged a few low, urgent words with the guards. He heard her ask, “Where?” and “How many?” before the door banged shut. From the satchel she lifted a glass phial, and unstoppered it so that Urchin caught a scent of something sweet and spicy—there must be cinnamon in it, and ginger, and something peppery—and mixed a few drops with water.
“Be brave, Urchin,” she said. Urchin saw the frown on her face and heard it in her voice. “I’ve just found out why we’re all on alert. There was a rescue attempt by some Mistmantle moles. They’d used the old tunnels, and had reached Whitewings tonight.”
“Crispin sent them!” cried Urchin. Crispin had tried to rescue him, even if he hadn’t succeeded. He’d try again.
“If I’d known the Mistmantle moles were coming, we needn’t even have escorted you home,” said Cedar grimly. “We could have just passed you over to your own animals. But I didn’t know.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” said Urchin.
“But the king and Granite knew!” she said fiercely. “There were armed moles ready to meet your rescuers.”
“Oh,” said Urchin, and almost wished he hadn’t known any of this. To be so close to rescue and still be here was too hard. “The Mistmantle moles, did they get away?”
Her solemn face warned him of the worst. “The Mistmantle moles were few and brave,” she said. “The first of them ran straight onto the swords of our soldiers. I hope the rest got away and are on their way home.” She laid a paw on his shoulder. “Don’t lose hope. I’ve heard about King Crispin. And your Captain Padra. They won’t abandon you.”
“But how did the king know?” demanded Urchin fiercely. “How did he know about the Mistmantle moles?”
“I wish I knew,” she said. “Hold on, Urchin. Unfortunately the king is having one of his bad times now. Because of the Mistmantle mole attack he’s screaming for your death, but it’s just one of his tantrums. We can weather it, but you’ll have to trust me, and be guided by me. I think I’ve convinced him that you can find silver. He has to believe that. He’s so greedy for silver, he’ll keep you alive while he thinks you can find it. And remember, when any other animals are around, I’m Commander Cedar and you’re in awe of me. I think they’ll send for you tonight, so I’ll put some of this on your fur. Sorry, but they think I’m treating you for lice, so you have to smell like it.”
She pulled the stopper from a bottle, and from it came a pungent smell that had a strange, unsettling effect on Urchin. He suddenly felt as if he were a very small squirrel in the woods again, in the days before he went to the tower: when he would climb his favorite tree or play on the forest floor with Needle and his friends, with Apple never far away. Cedar was rubbing it vigorously into his fur.
“You won’t like the smell, but neither do lice,” she said. It was so strong it made Urchin’s eyes water, and he was about to ask her what was in it, when there was a sharp rapping at the door.
“Urchin the Freak to the king!” shouted Bronze with a grin in his voice.
Cedar put away the bottle. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “I’ll be there. And if you want to get out of the king’s presence quickly, scratch. He hates lice.”
“What about Juniper?” Urchin whispered back.
“He’ll be safe in here,” she said. “Nobody will come in when it smells like this.” She tucked her helmet under her arm and marched Urchin to the High Chamber.
Urchin steeled himself. Nobody must see the fear that made his heart pound and his legs feel wobbly. He glanced at the first mirror and was dismayed to see a scared and wide-eyed squirrel staring back at him. That was no good. He had crossed the ocean alone, flown on a swan, and rescued a hedgehog from armed moles. In the next mirror was a squirrel putting a brave face on things. I am a Companion to King Crispin, he told himself, and approached the High Chamber with his face set, his shoulders squared, and his chin high.
He ducked only just in time as a table hurtled past his head. A silver cup flew toward him next, and a bowl, which shattered on the door frame.
“Prisoner Urchin of Mistmantle, High Splendor!” announced Cedar as she stamped to attention.
By night, the High Chamber looked far worse than it did by day. Torches blazing on the walls cast a livid light on the glaring eyes and bared teeth of King Silverbirch. Around him, armed and helmeted guards stood to attention, and a small hedgehog with a smug and unpleasant smile on its face crouched by the throne. Two tall guards stood in the shadows beyond the king. They seemed to be holding something between them, but he couldn’t see what it was. Granite was behind the throne, and in the flickering light of a torch, Urchin saw grim satisfaction on his face.
Something in a dark corner shuffled. It was coming toward them, a bent figure that stopped, crouched, raised its paws, shook its outspread claws at Urchin and hissed, and before he could see it clearly, Urchin knew who this was. He bit the inside of his lip. At last, he would get a good look at Smokewreath.
Smokewreath wore a gray robe hung with some sort of decorations that dangled on cords all round him. The fur of his tail had been closely trimmed so that the tail looked unnaturally thin, and on his head was a gray triangular cap, which sat between his ears and trailed into a long cord hanging down his back. He growled softly, and as he stepped nearer, Urchin saw what was hanging and swaying from the cords. There were twists of fur, there were claws, teeth, pieces of bones, birds’feet, feathers—Urchin looked up into the sorcerer’s face instead. He must not show fear, and it crossed his mind that Smokewreath couldn’t be much of a squirrel if he needed all those charms and cords to impress everyone. Brother Fir had the respect of all Mistmantle without having to dress up.
Smokewreath stared fiercely into Urchin’s eyes, looked him up and down, hopped back, and muttered under his breath; and in spite of fear, darkness, and danger, or even because of them, Urchin wanted to laugh. He bit his lip harder.
“He is priceless,” hissed Smokewreath. “I want winter. Kill.”
The king’s eyes glinted with malice. With a swing of his cloak he turned to the two guards in the shadows.
“Bring him here!” he ordered, and as the two guards dragged someone forward, Urchin could feel the king’s eyes resting on him in triumph. The king was waiting to see his reaction. Whatever was about to happen, he must remain calm, but when they hauled a small, dark figure into the firelight, his heart twisted, and it was all he could do to keep the dismay from his face. They had caught Captain Lugg.
With a swirl of his robe, the king strode to Urchin, towering over him so closely that Urchin had to lean back to look up into his face. “You know this mole, don’t you, Freak?” he snarled. “Stood and fought when he didn’t have a chance so he could let his troops get away. You may call it noble, but it was just stupid, stupid, stupid!”
The king had his back to Lugg, and didn’t see him wink at Urchin. Urchin didn’t dare wink back.
“Do you wonder why he’s still alive, Freak?” spat the king. “He’s alive because we want to send him back to Mistmantle. He can tell King Crispin that you’re staying here. Don’t argue, Granite. King Crispin might not believe it from one of our moles, but he will from this one, even though it lacks the brains of a slug.” He turned sharply on Lugg. “This freak will bring us silver, and if there’s silver on Mistmantle…” He left the sentence unfinished. With a yelp of laughter he swooped on Lugg, snatched him up in both paws, and lifted him high from the ground. Urchin darted forward with rage, but Cedar caught his wrist and forced him back.
Grinning with glee, the king held Lugg high above his head, then let go. Urchin lunged forward again as Lugg thudded to the floor, but Cedar’s paw tightened.
“Behave!” she barked, then bent to whisper, “He’s all right.”
Lugg was picking himself off the ground with surprising dignity. He didn’t even seem to have noticed what had happened.
“I see you’ve got old Granite here,” he remarked. “How’s the bad paw, Granite? Just remind me what happened to it?”
“The Lord Marshal,” said the king haughtily, “was injured in battle. He was treacherously stabbed by your Captain Padra.”
Urchin tried to protest, but Lugg got in first. “Is that so?” he said. “And here’s me thinking he was bitten by a girl hedgehog. Well, well, I always thought he was a claw thug with the brains of a bucket, and look at him now. Lord Marshal of the Hedgehog’s Toothmarks.”
In the silence that followed, Urchin felt that the stale air of Whitewings had been made clean by a Mistmantle voice. The king glared down at Lugg as Lugg gazed back up at him, clear-eyed, without blinking. When the king spoke, it was in a harsh growl forced out through his teeth.
“Go back to that little squirrel,” he said. “Tell him we will keep the freak until the first snow, then everyone will see what Smokewreath’s magic can do with him. Oh, and I demand the safe return of my ambassador.”
“Are you sure you want him, Your Silver Majesty?” asked Lugg politely.
“Go!” screamed the king. “Take him away! Cram him down a tunnel and point him to Mistmantle!”
“Well done, Captain!” yelled Urchin as Lugg was hustled out of sight. “Take my greetings to King Crispin and—”
Cedar grabbed him by the throat. With bared teeth, she rammed him against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
“Look as if I’ve hurt you,” she whispered, and Urchin slumped to the floor. The king strode toward him, his eyes bright with fury.
“Get up, you,” he ordered. “Cedar, don’t damage him, I need him. Freak, do what you’re here to do. Find us silver. Deliver us from fear. Deliver us from poverty. Then when you’ve done that, deliver yourself to Smokewreath. And when you’re dead he’ll turn your body into magic. The strongest magic! Snowfall, I told him he can have you at snowfall. Sooner, if I’m disappointed in you. Don’t want the expense of keeping you alive through the winter, do we?”
Urchin didn’t know if he was meant to answer, and stood helpless and uncertain until he remembered Cedar’s advice. He scrabbled at his ear with his right paw and scratched his side with his left, and the king leaped backward.
“Take him away!” screamed King Silverbirch. “Filthy, verminous beast, out, out! Go! Get him out!”
Cedar dragged him away. “Well done,” she whispered as soon as they were safely out of the chamber. She hurried him back to his cell, locked them both in, and rubbed pungent oil into Juniper’s fur.
“So far, so good,” she said.
“Good?” said Urchin, and lowered his voice as she put a claw to her lips. “They caught the moles, they caught Lugg—”
“And they’ve let him go,” said Cedar, “and you and Juniper are still alive. The king is trying to get as much out of you as he possibly can. As long as he thinks you can find silver, we have until snowfall, which gives King Crispin time to make another rescue attempt, and for us to try to get you off the island in case he doesn’t succeed.”
“But Crispin can’t send moles again,” said Urchin miserably. “They’ll guard the tunnels more than ever now. Why can’t you just rally the animals against the king now? Surely they’d rise against him if they knew Larch was alive and on the island?”
“They’re not ready,” she said. “They’re too frightened of the king and Smokewreath, and they’re so used to having a raging king, they’d have to get used to the idea of a quiet, sensible queen. If we tried and failed, there’d be terrible loss of life, and we wouldn’t have the chance to try again. We can only do it once.”
“Like Crispin and Lugg and the mole tunnels,” said Urchin.
“If Crispin’s half the king I think he is, he’ll find a way,” said Cedar, and sat back, rubbing oil from her paws. “Mistmantle!” she said with longing. “When we have more time to talk, Urchin, will you tell me about it?”
“I’ll tell you now, if you like!” he said hopefully. “And I’ll tell you what might be useful. When Padra had to gather the animals together against Husk, my friend Needle and I were always going to the woods on errands, and we made sure animals knew what was really going on at the tower. The Larchlings could do that.”
“They could,” she said. “I’ll have to leave you now, I’m afraid. It might look suspicious if I stay much longer, but I’ll be back in a day or two.” She dropped her voice. “I want you to meet the rest of the Larchlings. In the meantime, give Juniper plenty to drink, keep him warm, and keep rubbing this into his fur. Unfortunately it smells strong, but the lice treatment is even stronger, so that will hide it. It’s no good pulling faces, you have to put up with it. Here, I’ll spread it around the room.”
Cedar shook the bottle and sprinkled drops of the sharp-smelling oil on the cushions. Unpleasant though it was, it gave Urchin a lurch of homesickness that tightened his throat.
“It’s got some very strong herbs in it,” she said. “It frightens everything off.” She pressed the stopper into the bottle and looked at him searchingly, as she had before. “Urchin, do you really have no idea where you came from?”
“None,” said Urchin. “They never found my mother, only me.”
“I’d better go,” she said reluctantly, as if she’d rather stay.
Urchin nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. Then somebody shouted along the corridor that Mistmantle moles were savage fighters, and that they needed a healer, and somebody should fetch Commander Cedar, and she left with a last glance at him over her shoulder.
Urchin settled the cushions around Juniper. He sniffed once more at the oil on the cushions, and with a pang of pain and longing, he knew why it had stirred him.
There was a secret joke on Mistmantle. Apple made apple-and-mint cordial, which she seemed to think was extremely nice, and nobody had the heart to tell her it tasted appalling. It was popular in summer, though, because flies and biting insects wouldn’t go near it. Whatever Apple put in her cordials, Cedar must have used it in this, and the sharp, strong note of it struck Mistmantle in his heart. Sunlight dappling through the forest; ice-cold water splashing from springs; the giggling of small animals and the swish of autumn leaves; Apple telling him to drink up his cordial to make him strong, and while she wasn’t looking he’d tip it down a mole hole. Mistmantle rushed upon him, with memories of Apple holding on to her hat; Padra’s laughing, whiskered face; fresh, warm walnut bread; the wise, kind eyes of Brother Fir; his own nest in the little firelit chamber. He struggled to keep the tears from his eyes, but it was too hard. He crossed to the window, clutched the bars with both paws, and looked out. At least he could see the stars and the sea. Tide and starlight were part of Mistmantle, too.
He swallowed hard before he could get the words out, and spoke to the stars. “I’m…I am Urchin of the Riding Stars. Do you remember me?” Then he wrapped himself in a blanket, curled up beneath the window, and sobbed as quietly as he could, so Juniper would not hear him.