A humongous bear lumbered into their camp from behind the shadowy trees, stomping its brown paws on the ground before it let out another roar. Nels had no reason to fear for his life, but the bear’s massive claws and crushing jaws gave him plenty to fear for Tyra.

With thankful cries, the cubs descended from their sanctuary and scurried into the bushes. But the bear didn’t leave, its fierce eyes glaring at the princess.

“Don’t look at it,” Nels warned. “Don’t make a sound.”

“What am I supposed to do, then?” she whispered.

The bear snorted and stood, taller than a castle’s gate. Nels jumped back. Tyra did as well — that was a mistake. Ramming its paws into the dirt, the creature roared as it charged for the kill.

Brandishing his stick, Nels swung at it, but he missed his mark and stumbled through the bear’s stomach. Dropping her dagger, Tyra cried out as she bolted for the rotted tree behind her. The bear caught up to her and swiped its paws. Chunks of bark flew as Tyra dodged the blow, her face turning white. She sprinted for the other side of the camp, where her bow lay.

Nels pointed at the branches where the cubs had hidden moments before. “This way!”

With her bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, Tyra ran toward Nels as the bear rebounded and charged again. Nels hurled his stick at its head. It bounced off, doing little more than upsetting the creature. An arrow whizzed through the air, right over Nels’s shoulder, and found its mark in the bear’s arm. The creature howled and paused, providing them more time.

“Here!” Nels stooped by the tree and cupped his hands. “I’ll hoist you up!”

Placing her foot in his palms, Nels thrust her high, aware that the animal was behind them. Nels elbowed it in the gut, but this only angered it more. Snarling, the bear reached up and pawed at Tyra’s middle. She gave a terrible cry. Blood dripped from her side and fell through Nels’s arm.

“Tyra!”

Nels dashed for his stick again and swung it at the bear with all his might. The creature turned its head, caught the stick in its jaws, and snapped it in two. There was a loud crack. Then the tree leaned, its roots ripping from the soil. The bear rounded on the tree and pushed.

In a matter of seconds, Tyra’s haven would crash down — and she with it.

Just then, Nels caught a glint of firelight.

The fire … “Hang on!”

He raced for it, seized a hot coal in his bare hand, and drove it into the bear’s side. The creature yelped as it backed away and stared at the floating ember. The bear showed its teeth and clawed at the air, but Nels maintained his lure, waiting for the right moment to strike. He grabbed the bear’s paw, yanked it hard, and tripped the creature onto the burning coals. The camp went dark as the bear’s cry shook the air. The creature jumped up and retreated into the trees.

“Nels …” Tyra said, her voice shaky and weak.

He looked up at her. “Are you all right?”

She teetered. “I don’t … think …”

Her eyes closed as her grip gave out.

Nels sprinted and caught her before she hit the ground. He laid her down on the quilt. Their camp was a complete mess, but Tyra was worse: her bodice mangled, her side torn. The bear’s claw had ravaged her flesh, leaving deep slashes that had dyed her skirt red with blood.

She was losing too much; he had to stop it.

“Stay with me, Tyra!”

Nels looked for a cloth or a handkerchief. There were none. Their supplies and provisions were smashed in the dirt — except for a little box of cedar wood. Maybe something inside could help. Running to the box, he picked it up and returned to Tyra’s side. She moaned and shook as he tried to open the latch.

Suddenly, he heard the hooves of a horse drawing near. Nels raised his head, surprised by a floating light in the distance, bobbing up and down like a drunken firefly.

A stranger with an excessively large stomach emerged from the thicket, followed by Brooklet. The man had a dense beard, and he wore a glowing lantern fastened to a metal hat on his head. Adorned with furs across his burly shoulders, the bearded man entered their camp while speaking to Brooklet. “A bear, you say’n,” he said in deep voice. “Come’n from over here?”

Brooklet gave a gentle whinny. She didn’t seem to mind this man.

“Girl might be hurt? Better have’n a look.”

Nels couldn’t trust this man, whoever he was. When the man approached the princess, Nels retrieved one of Tyra’s arrows and held the tip inches away from the stranger’s throat.

To his astonishment, the stranger merely smiled at the floating arrow.

“Ol’ Hilvar?” the man asked. “Nah, Hilvar bothers no bears this late.” He scratched his head, his eyes fixed on the floating object. “Well, best not be scare’n the cubs. Makes you not welcome.” The stranger pointed a pudgy finger at Tyra. “Better if I help, or else’n she dies.”

Nels lowered the arrow. Eccentric as the bearded man was, he was Tyra’s only hope.

Tyra found herself in the midst of a strange dream.

There was a hill and, beyond it, a gentle river. She knew this river. It flowed from the mountains to the sandy shores of her kingdom. She had camped here under a willow tree on the first night of her journey. Then she saw two figures along the bank; one knelt before the other.

The man who stayed on his feet had a sword in his hand. He used it to tap the other man’s shoulder — a peasant’s shoulder. This mysterious king had knighted the peasant. To see the peasant obtain his lifelong dream brought her comfort. She was happy for him.

“Here is your champion.” The king joined her hand with the peasant’s. “You may reward him.”

To Tyra’s surprise, she tilted her head back, her lips ready.

He leaned in for the kiss — and dissolved into a white mist.

“Nels?” she cried. “Don’t leave me, Nels. Don’t go!”

“It’s all right,” he said, his face returning. “I’m here.”

“She be stir’n,” said a husky voice. “Wax works!”

Tyra struggled to open her eyes. Her side was burning, and a streak of blood — her blood — had stained her skirt. A cold sweat added to her sudden wooziness. She felt dizzier than a whirlwind.

She must have fainted, but for how long? “Who … who is this man?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Nels said, “but he knows about —”

“I be Fargut! Found your mare, saved your life — be right for a trade.”

Her heart beating normally again, Tyra looked at her wound. A thick, custard-colored substance coated her side. The stranger moved away from her, grinning through his beard. Half of his teeth were missing. Little could be said about the stained nubs that remained. He had a sun-weathered face, his clothing smelled of skinned animals, and his breath was worse than a pig’s trough.

Tyra inched closer to Nels as she eyed the stranger. “Who are you?”

“Said already I be Fargut,” he grunted. “And you know’n why?” He stood and leaned back as he patted his protrusive belly with both hands. “ ’Cause me gut be come’n out so far!”

Tyra smirked at Nels. “A rather curious name.”

The man beamed. “Lucky girl, have’n Fabricat’n kit. Haven’t seen one’n ages.”

“Fabrication kit?” Tyra glanced at her feet. The cedar box that Ickabosh had given her was open. The inside, lined with red velvet, contained a torn lump of beeswax. She remembered the peasant’s body down in the tailor’s chamber, and the amber beeswax that Bosh had covered him with from head to toe. Fargut must have used it to coat her skin, too. The bear had clawed a deep gash in her side, but it hardly hurt anymore. Now there was no gash — not even a scratch. The substance had healed her. Tyra took note of the other items in the kit: a seam ripper, a vial of black dye, a spool of thread, and a thimble. She saw a golden inscription sewn inside the lid:

The world is your fabric, the people your thread.

Within are your tools. Mend us with care.

“How long have you had that?” Nels asked.

She met his eyes. “Since we left the castle.”

“Trade’n for kit?” Fargut asked. “Knives, skins, cushion for pins? Currencies?”

He reached into his brown vest, pulled out a little sack, and dumped a heap of golden nuggets into his soiled hand. Tyra gasped. How could a wild man in a deserted forest carry such treasure, and why would he trade that much gold for a sewing kit? He seemed eager to exchange for it.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I would like to keep it.”

Fargut sighed as he stowed the gold back inside his vest. “What I’d give’n for a fancy Fabricate’n kit — be’n a wise girl, you keep’n it. Best I leave’n girl and her ghosty alone.”

“Wait!” Tyra cried. “You know there’s a ghost here?”

“Had’n arrow at me neck. Was think’n Ol’ Hilvar come to take me.”

“You know of Hilvar?” Tyra asked. “Do you know where his castle is?”

“Oye,” Fargut said. “Not so far from ’ere.”

“We’re trying to find the castle. Will you show us the way?”

Fargut frowned as he poked at the fire. “I be look’n mad?”

“Are you sure we can trust him?” Nels asked Tyra.

She turned to face Nels. “Why not? He saved me.”

Nels nodded at the stranger. “But he’s kind of strange.”

“Stranger things have happened to me in the last few days.” She looked at Fargut again. “We seek the treasury of Westmine Castle. I would be grateful if you showed us the way.”

“No treasures there,” Fargut said. “They say Vagas take’n treasures, but where’s their place for hide’n such a treasures? No use for wealth, them diviners.”

“Diviners?” Nels and Tyra asked together.

“Three magical folks there be: conjurers, diviners, and makers of seams!”

“I’ve heard of the Vagas’ magic,” Nels said.

“Magic or not, we must reach the castle.” Tyra’s mind was made up. “Will you guide us?”

Fargut closed his eyes and shook his head. “Nope.”

“Please, Fargut. Will you make an exception for a princess?”

“A princess, you say’n?” Fargut gasped. “A real princess?” When Tyra nodded, Fargut jumped onto his feet, held out his hand, and posed daintily. “I be’n a princess, too!”

All Nels and Tyra could do was stare at the big-bellied man.

“I don’t think he believes you,” Nels said.

Tyra glared down at her lap, then suddenly held out her hand. “Do you know what this is?”

As Fargut looked, his eyes opened wide. “That be’n a conjure’n ring!”

“I eat eggs every morning.” Tyra ignored Nels’s confused stare as the stone turned black. “I am a princess,” she followed quickly, and the stone returned to green.

“Your ring!” Nels said, astonished. “How did you do that?”

Fargut raised his chin. “It be’n dangerous here for a princess.”

Tyra wasn’t interested in avoiding danger — not anymore. She hadn’t come all this way to be lost. She wondered if bartering would entice the man. She happened to be a particularly great barterer. “Listen, Fargut. If I give you something, will you please guide us to the castle?”

He blinked a few times. “Won’t part with Fabricate’n kit. How about’n that ring?”

She looked at her hand. There was not enough light to see it clearly, now that the fire had started to burn low, but she could tell the stone was green. He’d helped her, a stranger, without a clue that she was a princess. At least he was an honest fellow. “I’d like to keep this as well.”

“When did you know that ring could do that?” Nels asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered at him. She turned back to Fargut. “I’m afraid all I have is this dagger, a bow, and my horse, but … I wouldn’t dream of giving those up …”

“What about tha’ cloak?” Fargut pointed. “It be’n too warm for it.”

“Done!” Tyra slipped off her cloak and handed it over.

The man traced his finger along its seams. “Edge of the city, no farther.”

Tyra sighed, relieved in more ways than one. “Imagine our good fortune,” she whispered to Nels. “We found a guide!”

“You should rest,” Nels suggested. “We’ll start again in the morning.”

“Not when we’re so close. You said you could sew, right?”

He nodded.

“Then … would you please patch this hole in my dress?”

It was a bold request, but it was better to ask than travel through the forest in a torn skirt. Nels reached for her sewing kit. The beeswax on her side was hard now, orange flakes beginning to shed off her skin. Her dress and bodice were shredded and bloodied. Neither of them could help that. As Nels searched the sewing kit, he looked confused.

“Is something wrong?”

“I don’t think I can fix your dress.”

Tyra frowned. “But I thought you could sew.”

“I can sew fine,” he said, “but not without a needle.”

She rummaged through the kit. He was right — there was no needle, just the beeswax and four tools that she’d seen earlier. “How utterly pointless. What good is a sewing kit without a needle?”

“No ordinary kit,” said Fargut, waiting at the edge of their camp. “Come’n?”

“I wish everything would stop being so unordinary.” Tyra got ready to stand. “For now, I will have to cover my side with my knapsack, I suppose. Will you fetch it for me?”

Nels complied. Since the cubs had ruined most of her provisions, there was nothing else to pick up. From now on, she would have to forage for food — something she had never done. Maybe the peasant would pick her more brambleberries, if they were to come across any.

“Here,” Nels said, handing her the sack. “Keep that kit with you all the time, especially the thimble — it will protect you.” Nels paused, a wistful look on his face. “At least,” he continued, “it will protect you from most dangers. A thimble couldn’t save me from Rasmus.”

“If you insist, Nels,” she said, wondering how much help a tiny thimble could be. She placed the strap over her head and let it rest on her shoulder. The peasant stared, unsettling her. “What?”

“You said my name. It sounded nice … coming from you.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Tyra said. “Help me up.”

Nels helped Tyra to her feet, gathered her dagger and belongings, and saddled Brooklet. The mare rubbed her nose into Tyra’s hair, as if thankful for her safety. “Can you go a little farther tonight, Brooklet?” the princess asked gently. The mare whickered in response. Although Tyra’s side ached like a beesting, she gathered her reins and mounted the mare. If the castle wasn’t far, she could handle this. Perhaps the castle would offer a decent place to rest.

“A ghost, move’n about as the live’n,” said Fargut. “Why you look’n for treasury?”

“I will explain on the way,” Tyra insisted. “We mustn’t waste moonlight.”

Fargut laughed as he turned his back on them and started to walk. Tyra urged Brooklet to follow. Nels lumbered by her side, looking gloomy — almost brooding. “What’s the matter?”

“I promised to protect you. You could’ve been killed.”

“I could have, but thanks to you, I wasn’t.” As she smiled at him, a humorous thought caused her to laugh. “Sharing an afterlife with you … now that would be terrible.”

The two shared a glance and started to laugh as they headed up the trail.

Without the moon’s light, the false Arek would have missed the crossroad.

He had many directions to choose from, but which had the princess taken? She could have gone anywhere. Having driven his horse to exhaustion, Arek dismounted and searched the ground. He could not find anything, not even a hoof mark.

His path was the only one that led away from the mountains. She had come this way unless she jumped the trail and journeyed into the thick of the forest.

Without a thread to trace, finding her would be impossible now.

Then, just as he was about to abandon hope, Arek felt a stir in the air. A familiar strength surged near him — a passing thread was tying itself to the kingdom of Avërand.

Her thread … She’s torn her slip stitch!

Reaching into his pocket, Arek pulled out a bodkin made from a boar’s rib. He raised it over his head, laced her thread around it, and closed his eyes. He saw her on a horse in the distance, heading toward the ruined city of Westmine. She wasn’t alone. A man walked ahead of her.

Someone was traveling with her.

Who in the Great Tapestry can this be?

Arek raced for his horse and guided the creature west.

Whoever the man was, Arek would deal with him soon enough.