I was not there when the witch set out to strip the magic from the trees of Minchfold.

Neither were Flax, Felicia or the pup.

But the pup’s parents were. His mother, who is named She-Who-Will-Call-The-Tempest. And his father, His-Fury-Is-The-Blizzard.

This is what they told me.

Minchfold was usually a noisy, bustling town, full of noisy, bustling minch-wiggins.

But now it was deserted. The hammocks and swings were silent, and so were the great trees.

The witch gazed up at them with a hungry expression. ‘Call me a storm,’ she demanded.

Yesterday had torn a great wound through the Floating Forest. It did not look as if it was bleeding. But the Spellhounds could feel it.

‘Call a storm,’ snarled the witch, ‘or your pup will suffer.’

‘We cannot’ said His-Fury-Is-The-Blizzard. ‘You took too much power from us yesterday.’

It was a lie, and the witch knew it. But before she could speak, both Spellhounds felt a storm being called.

It was their son.

They did not want the witch to know what the pup was doing. So She-Who-Will-Call-The-Tempest said, ‘However, we will do our best.’

The two Spellhounds raised their heads and gazed into the distance.

They lent their strength to the pup.

They helped him call the storm.