The mor-kits were a lot smaller than the sketters, and nowhere near as smelly.

But they frightened Flax even more.

They hissed at her. They circled her on silent feet.

They giggled.

Thank you, I am quite aware that a giggle does not sound frightening.

But this was a hungry giggle.

A nightmare giggle, full of needle-sharp teeth and black tongues, and please-run-so-we-can-chase-you.

If you are very lucky, you will never hear a mor-kit giggle. But if you do, I advise you to fall to the ground and pretend you are a stick. If that is too hard, try to look as if you have been dead for some time and are starting to rot.

Mor-kits are fussy eaters and prefer their food fresh.

(Please note that this will not work with sketters. They will eat anything. Including sticks.)

Flax was good at pretending to be a stick. But a stick can’t summon an army or defeat a witch.

So she stood her ground, and trembled.

‘Tasssty,’ hissed the mor-kits, as they circled closer.

‘Ssscrumptiousss.’

‘Sssandwich.’

‘I need to t-talk to you,’ squeaked Flax. ‘About the t-trees. And the w-witch!’

For a moment, she thought they wouldn’t listen.

But the mor-kits had seen the dragon tow the Floating Forest through the sky. They had heard the magic being ripped from the trees around Sketterhome. The world was upside down and, for a few minutes at least, they were willing to listen to a minch-wiggin.

(Instead of putting her between slices of a different minch-wiggin and calling it a sandwich.)

After the mor-kits, Flax went to the horned globs.

In some ways, they were the hardest of all. Not because they were frightening, but because she kept forgetting they were there, and had to pinch herself over and over as she spoke to them.

After the horned globs, she went looking for the minch-wiggins.