Gracie Gillypot was wondering why she wasn’t more tired. She had been following Marlon through the night for what seemed like ages and ages, but her feet weren’t sore even though she was barefoot. She had no idea at all where she was; once they had reached the bottom of Fracture Mountain, they had turned sharply away from the path that led to Gorebreath and struck out into the dark heart of the forest. Marlon had led her between ancient gnarled and twisted trees and through wild tangled bushes, and although Gracie suspected that they were steadily moving west and climbing upward, she couldn’t be certain.

The moon was beginning to fade and the birds beginning to sing happily about dawn and day and worms, when Marlon stopped under a wide-spreading yew tree. “OK, babe,” he said. “Time for a nap. This bat’s one tired flapper. Curl yourself up on a branch and snooze.”

Gracie looked at the tree anxiously. She couldn’t imagine how she could curl herself up on any branch.

Marlon yawned. “Climb, kiddo, climb. And no fretting. No one in this wood touches a Trueheart. See ya!” With a flip of his wings, he flew high into the branches and vanished.

There didn’t seem to be any other choice, so Gracie climbed. To her surprise she found a deep hollow where a couple of large branches met the trunk, and the hollow was filled with soft, dry bracken. “This really is quite cozy,” she murmured. “Although I’m sure I won’t sleep. There’s been far too much happening . . .” Her voice faded away, and her eyes closed. She began to snore faintly.

Marlon, perched several branches above her, chuckled. “Poor little kid. She needs a rest, and there’s nothing like bracken dust to keep your peepers shut. Heigh-ho!” He shook himself, turned upside down, and batnapped for an hour. After that, he flew off on a little private business, but he was back before the sun was high in the sky.

Gracie woke with a start. For a moment she couldn’t imagine where she could possibly be, and then she remembered. She sat up in her nest of bracken and looked around. “How long have I slept?” she wondered aloud. And then, “Where’s Marlon?”

“No worries. Don’t think I’d bring you all this way to dump you, do you, kiddo?” Marlon was perched on the branch above, looking dusty but cheerful. “Ready to move?” he asked.

Gracie stretched. “Yes,” she said. “Of course . . . but is there any chance I could wash my face and hands?” She was too polite to say she was starving.

“Overrated if you ask me,” Marlon remarked. “Washing wears you away. But”— he waved a wing —“there’s a stream down there if you must.”

“Thank you,” Gracie said gratefully, and she climbed down from her tree and hurried to the stream. Ten minutes later, as thoroughly washed as she could manage in a muddy trickle of water, she was back.

Marlon greeted her with a grin and pointed at a clump of stunted shrubs growing nearby. “Breakfast,” he said. “Or whatever. Eat what you can, and save some. We’ll be into the More Enchanted Forest before long. Don’t trust anything there — not unless you’re looking for shakes and shivers and a good deal worse.”

Gracie helped herself to the small black berries doubtfully at first, but once she had tasted them, her face lit up. “Wow!” she said. “It’s like . . . I don’t know what it’s like. It keeps changing! It’s very delicious, though.”

“Toast ’n’ marmalade ’n’ scrambled eggs ’n’ bacon ’n’ tomato ’n’ porridge ’n’ chips ’n’ sauce,” Marlon said, all in one breath.

“Oh.” Gracie was impressed. “Is that what it is? I think Foyce and Mange must have eaten those things when they went to Gorebreath market. I recognize the names.”

Marlon stared at her. “You don’t say. And what did you get, kiddo?”

Gracie swallowed another handful of berries. “They always left me behind, locked in the cellar. And I ate potato peelings, mostly. Or porridge skin.”

“Porridge skin. Ah.” Marlon turned his back on Gracie, and she had a sudden suspicion that he was wiping his eyes with his wing. He looked his normal chirpy self when he turned back, however, and she decided she must have been mistaken. “OK, babe!” he said. “Picked enough berries to keep you going? Time we left. Can’t keep the Ancient Crones waiting. This way!” And he flitted away along a pathway totally invisible to Gracie’s human eye.

Gracie followed obediently, but as she jumped over the small stream, Marlon’s words echoed in her head. What did he mean, keep the Ancient Crones waiting? Did they know she was coming? And if so, how? She pushed away a trailing creeper and scrambled noisily over a heap of slithering stones. Several fell away from under her feet and rattled to the bottom of a slope. “Marlon!” she called. “Marlon!”

Marlon flew a loop over her head and twittered crossly. “Shhh!” he hissed. “No need to tell the whole forest we’re here! News’ll get around quick enough as it is.”

“I’m sorry,” Gracie whispered. “But I was wondering — why are the Ancient Crones waiting for me?”

“What?” Marlon looped another loop. “When did I say that?”

“You said we mustn’t keep them waiting,” Gracie said doggedly.

“Did I?” Marlon sounded shifty. “Just a turn of phrase, kiddo. Don’t you go thinking up stories, now. Just trust your old friend Marlon!” And he was off again, this time flying well in front of her.

He doesn’t want to talk about it, Gracie thought, and then she shrugged. But I’m going to have to trust him. I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, except that it’s to the Ancient Crones . . . and however scary and peculiar they may be, absolutely anything is better than Mange and Foyce.