Flax’s ears were pinned back in horror, and so were the pup’s. Their eyes were white around the edges.

‘But what would a dragon want with my parents?’ whispered the pup.

‘T-to eat them.’

‘NooooOOOoooo!’ The pup spun in a howling circle, tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground. He looked at Flax pitifully. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘N-no.’ Because who could be sure of anything about a dragon?

One of the pup’s ears lifted a little. ‘Then maybe it didn’t eat them. Maybe it took them back to its den.’

‘Maybe,’ said Flax.

But she didn’t believe it for a moment. Those Spellhounds were nothing but gnawed bones by now.

She felt sorry for the pup, but glad for herself. What if the dragon had come after minch-wiggins instead of Spellhounds?

Auntie Grub and Uncle Beech would have dragged Flax out of her cosy nest halfway up the oldest tree in Minchfold, and demanded that she defend the town and everyone in it.

And Flax would have done her best, because she loved her home.

She loved the leafy hammocks that were so nice to sleep in on hot afternoons.

And the piplum nuts, which tasted like sunshine or rain or happiness, depending on the time of day.

And the mossy-banked creek that ran right through the middle of Minchfold.

And the babies. And the grannies and grandpas. And the stories and smells and nests and swings.

And the trees themselves, which were full of magic from root to twig.

She loved it all. And if Auntie Grub and Uncle Beech had sent her to fight the dragon, she would have tried.

But there was only one possible outcome to a fight like that.

The pup blinked at her. ‘You really think so? Huh? Huh?’

‘Yes,’ said Flax. Meaning, Yes-I-am-so-glad-the-dragon-ate-your-parents-instead-of-me.

But the pup took it completely the wrong way. He stood up. He pricked both his ears. ‘Then they’re still alive. We must go and find them.’

‘What?’ said Flax.

‘We must find the dragon,’ said the pup. ‘Then we’ll find my mother and father.’

And he set off in completely the wrong direction.

‘Wait!’ yelped Flax, running after him. ‘Where are you going? Home is that way!’ She pointed back the way they had come.

To her dismay, the pup didn’t change direction. His tail was still tucked between his legs, and with every step he looked around nervously.

But there was something so determined about him that Flax knew he meant it.

He was going to find the dragon.

‘I’ll go home without you,’ she squeaked.

The pup stopped and tipped his head to one side. For the first time, he seemed to look at her properly.

‘You’re that minch-wiggin. The one with the famous sword and the amazing magic.’

‘Um—’ said Flax.

‘Destroyer-of-Dragons-and-Protector-of-her-People.’ The pup’s tail untucked a little. His eyes brightened. ‘I’m lucky to have found you. Come on.’

And he set off again, heading north.

Flax looked up, and flinched. She looked around, and trembled.

The World Below was just too big. In the Floating Forest, the sky was a speckle of blue seen through the treetops. The ground was made up of tree roots and piles of fallen leaves, and little paths that wound back and forth.

Most important of all, the air sang with magic, and so did the rocks and earth and water.

But here, the sky was a wide gaping bowl that made Flax feel dizzy. There were trees, but they were few and far between. There were things that looked a bit like trees, except they were much too straight and only had two branches at the top, and no leaves at all.

As for the land, it was bare and flat and dull, as if all the magic had been drained out of it.

More than anything, Flax wanted to go home.

But she couldn’t leave the pup in the World Below. What if he never came back to the Floating Forest? What if the dragon ate him, too?

If Spellhounds leave,

the Forest must grieve…

The rhyme made it sound as if everyone would be sad for a while, then get on with their lives.

But according to Flax’s grandpa, the original rhyme didn’t say ‘grieve’ at all. It said griv.

No, of course you have never heard of griv.

That is because you are not a minch-wiggin.

But even if you were a minch-wiggin, you might not know it. Hardly anyone uses the word anymore. It is too scary.

Griv means disaster. It means end-of-the-world, and hide-little-minch-wiggin-hide, and don’t-bother-hiding-because-nothing-can-save-you.

Here are some other words you might find useful.

Perfidy, meaning lies and betrayal.

Malison, meaning a curse.

Turnkey, meaning a jailer.

Remember these words. Remember them well, so you are not taken unawares as I was, on that dreadful night when—

But no. I must tell this story in the right order.

Flax had never worried about griv before. The Spellhounds had shown no sign of leaving. And besides, Grandpa was always digging up old words and stories, and more than half the time they turned out to be nonsense.

But what if this one wasn’t nonsense?

There were only three Spellhounds in the Floating Forest, and the dragon had eaten two of them.

Which left one.

Somehow, Flax had to get him back to the forest before griv happened.

‘Wait!’ she squeaked again.

And she hurried after the Spellhound pup.