They climbed up through the foothills.

Then they climbed higher. And higher.

The trees grew smaller. The rocks grew bigger.

The dragon drew closer …

Every time Flax thought about where they were going, she wanted to turn back. She wanted to hurry down the mountain as fast as she could. She wanted to fall down the mountain, if that was the quickest way to get there.

But somewhere in the clouds above her was the Floating Forest.

She could feel it in the tips of her whiskers, and when the wind turned, she could smell the leaves and bark. Once, she thought she heard the distant moan of a horned glob.

Home. It was the only thing that kept her going.

‘How much – further?’ panted Rose.

‘I think it’s quite a way yet,’ said Flax. (She hoped it was quite a way. Because she had no idea how they were going to get the Floating Forest back from the dragon without any magic whatsoever.)

‘Can we – stop for a bit?’ asked Rose, plonking herself down on a boulder. ‘To catch – our breath?’

The pup was some distance ahead of them. But he leapt back down, as bouncy as ever. ‘Why are we stopping?’

‘For a rest,’ said Rose. ‘Pup, when your parents were taken, did you actually see the dragon?’

‘No,’ said the pup.

‘Then are you sure it was a dragon?’ asked Rose. ‘Might it have been the Lady?’

‘Shhhh!’ hissed Flax.

‘Sorry,’ whispered Rose. ‘But could it have been her?’

The pup tipped his head to one side. ‘I don’t think so. I smelled the scorching and heard the growl. And if it was her, then she has my parents. Why would she still be trying to catch me?’

‘Besides,’ said Flax, ‘we saw the dragon stealing the Floating Forest.’

‘Might they have been working together?’ asked Rose.

‘I don’t know,’ said Flax. She drew the sword from its sheath. ‘Sword? Could the L— Could the person you told us about have been working with the dragon?’

The sword sighed. ‘I was in the middle of a very nice nap. Why did you wake me up with a foolish question?’

‘Why is it foolish?’ asked Rose.

‘Dragons and witches hate each other,’ said the sword. ‘You are as likely to find me working with a soldier. Now, can I go back to sleep?’

Rose didn’t look at all satisfied. ‘But if that person didn’t steal the pup’s parents, how did she even know about him? How did she know he was here in Hallow?’

It was a good question. ‘Maybe she saw him,’ said Flax, ‘when the can’t-see-us wore off. Or maybe someone else saw him, and told her.’

The pup nosed her. ‘Is there anything to eat?’

Before they started up the mountain, Flax had taken all the useless moss out of her satchel, and replaced it with a week’s worth of acorns and thistles.

But a week’s worth of food for a minch-wiggin is only a couple of mouthfuls for a hungry Spellhound pup. And when there’s a human girl as well …

‘Nothing,’ said Flax.

The pup’s ears drooped. ‘Nothing at all?’

‘Nothing at all. Look.’ Flax turned her satchel upside down and shook it.

A tiny silver thread dropped out onto the rock and began to drift away.

A tiny silver thread of magic.

‘Catch it!’ squeaked Flax.

Rose and the pup dived after it at the same time. Rose almost had it, but it slipped through her fingers. The pup lunged past her – and caught the thread in his jaws.

‘Ot it,’ he mumbled, keeping his mouth closed. ‘Ot ill I oo ith it?’

Flax scrambled over to him, her heart beating fast. ‘When I say so, open your mouth really slowly. No, not yet … ’

She put her cupped hands next to the pup’s jaw. ‘Now,’ she whispered.

The pup’s lip curled, and something gleamed from underneath it. Flax held her breath.

The pup’s teeth separated – and the thread flew out.

But this time, Flax was ready. She grabbed it and held it tight. It wriggled for a moment, then grew still.

Flax tucked it back into her satchel and closed her eyes with relief. ‘It must’ve been hiding in one of the seams. But now we’ve got it. We’ve got some magic. We’ve got a chance!’

Do you know the expression ‘a hollow laugh’?

It is the way you laugh when something is not at all funny.

It is a laugh filled with sadness.

Or despair.

The sort of sound a prisoner might make if he learnt that a minch-wiggin was climbing Mount Tangle, armed with nothing but a talking sword and a single thread of magic.

And that she thought she had a chance.

Ha.

Ha.

Ha.