‘I can hear the band,’ said Tilly, clutching Rosie, her voice high with nervous excitement.
Rosie pulled her friend’s hands off her. ‘Shush,’ she said. They were watching from the shadows, away from the gathering crowd. Down a small bank, behind some trees. Up at the festival area the cafe was open, spilling light from its windows and selling hot drinks that sent steam into the cold evening air.
Underneath the yew tree, the Spring Queen’s throne was now in place. A grand wicker chair, woven with ivy, daffodils and sweet-smelling daphne. Beside it lay the sword, a willow twig that also had ivy twisted around it, interspersed with pale yellow primroses.
No one had noticed the carrot in the dark.