They are gone. Jaddi, Kalila, Grandpa Truegood and Raffi have gone. I know it by the fist-sized stone in my stomach, by the cold wire that runs up and down my spine, by my breath, which hitches so hard I’m beginning to feel giddy. Tears sting my eyes as I ride to Green Lake.

I stare at the spot where the caravan once stood as if by wishing it there I could make it magically appear. The place feels so empty, whereas before it felt so alive. I look back through the trees where I’d seen Raffi appear with his animal spirit trotting beside him. I look at the place where Jaddi sat polishing stones. I hear an echo of soft grinding. I think about Grandpa Truegood. I can still feel his warm arms around me.

Will I ever see any of them again?

On a flat rock, five brightly polished river stones gleam in the sunlight. One stone for each of us, I think as I pick them up.

The larger brown one is Jaddi, whose animal spirit is the old bear. The silver one is, of course, Kalila, the silver fox. The spotty one is Raffi, the leopard. For Grandpa Truegood, black basalt. And the white stone is me, Rima, the white antelope.

I lie down on the grass and hold up the necklace Jaddi made for me. ‘One day we will see each other again. I’ll learn how to reach into your realm and find you,’ I say.

Over the first week of the school holidays, I see a change come to Dell Hollow. Invisible walls around the town are slowly crumbling.

The books in the hidden room are now in their proper place in the Dell Hollow Library. Grandpa Truegood had put them there so that they wouldn’t be destroyed. But I think now the town is ready for them. Miss Cubby is still our teacher and every day she has a special story-telling session in the library – even the grownups come to listen.

A travelling musician often plays music on the corner and people stop; someone might even tap a little dance. The bakery offers sweet cakes shaped like mushrooms, the red tops sprinkled with white speckles. People hang out in the warm dusk, chatting to their neighbours, strolling the streets. And everyone talks to me and pats Mystic.

I’ve always seen the woods in the shape of a sleeping cat and now the cat is awake. It lifts its sleek black head and a warm summer breeze ruffles its fur.

Slowly, people have started taking walks in the woods and having picnics on the banks of Fiddlers Stream. I thought I’d hate to share them because the woods belong to Mystic and me. But I love them and I want the people of Dell Hollow to love them too.

I’ve started taking people on walks to show them the trees, plants and animals that live there. I tell them to tread softly and lightly. And they do.

Every time I pass the place where the Hollow Tree once stood, my heart aches. In its place, though, a baby sycamore has been planted. The seedling comes from the sycamore at the back of our house, the one that dared to grow in a strange place, that dared to be different.

Momma and I drive through town and see Petal and Big Bobby drinking milkshakes with Mystic at their feet. Petal is feeding him an ice-cream.

Momma toots and I wind down the window.

‘I’ll take good care of Mystic, don’t worry, Zigs!’ Petal calls out. ‘Make sure you write!’

I lean out the window and wave until the town is gone. As Hushing Wood spreads out on my left, the morning sun playing hide-and-seek between the trees, I sit back in the seat. We’re driving to Patonville first and there we’ll leave the car and catch the plane to Surfers Bluff where Papa and the boys are.

Now we are out of the valley and driving on a long straight road that slices across the plains. With the wind in my face, thoughts come and go like little birds visiting their favourite tree.

I thought my premonition was about my death, but all along it was about life. I know now something that might seem bad at the time often turns out, in the end, to be a good thing. It’s like you’re in the woods and you can only see the thick and twisted trees around you, not the whole woods with its paths and meadows and streams shimmering light. And maybe you never will see it all, but remembering that the whole woods is there can ease your heart.

I let the thoughts sit for a while, then I shake my branches. I imagine Raffi back in his house with the flat roof, in the maze of alleyways, in a town surrounded by sand. I imagine Kalila drawing and singing. I see Grandpa Truegood and Jaddi crossing deserts, looking for the child of the jinn.

The car hits a bump and something lands in my hand. I look down.

The five stones from Green Lake are in a small cloth bag on my lap, but Raffi’s stone has jumped out.

The sun, shining through the windscreen, warms the stone and I close my fingers around it. Feeling its smooth surface against my skin, I know Raffi is thinking of me at this very moment.

And then I realise a truth. When you are both children of light the connection can never be broken. From across the great deserts and the vast seas there is, and always will be a kinship between us, not of blood, but of the stars that shine down upon both our worlds.

All I have to do is take a step sideways and I will be there.