Twelve couldn’t see the deathspinner anywhere so she set about painstakingly cutting herself free from the sticky web. She was assisted by Widge once he reached her and had licked every part of her face in ecstatic greeting. Beneath them, Six was helping Foxpaw to the ground. Even from high above, Twelve could see the moxie looked utterly exhausted. His limbs were trembling so hard he could barely stand and he alternated between apologizing and expressing wild gratitude to everyone.

When Twelve finally slipped down the rope to join them, Widge immediately leaped from her shoulder to investigate Foxpaw. For an awkward moment, she thought Six was going to hug her again, but he just grinned, the relief plain on his face. Dog looked like he couldn’t decide whether to berate or praise her. He settled for a noncommittal nod, then changed his mind and butted her gently with his nose.

Foxpaw straightened up and came over to her. To Twelve’s amazement, Widge was on his shoulder, chirruping happily. Her squirrel had never taken to anyone so fast before. She took a moment to examine Foxpaw properly. He was small, only as tall as her chest. His skin was tawny and his eyes molten gold, with honey-colored hair sticking up in wild tufts. He was wearing simple overalls of a deep green fabric that left his arms uncovered, but the cold didn’t seem to bother him in the least. His bare feet hardly left a trace in the snow. The grin on his face was dazzling. There was something about him that inspired trust, an openness and curiosity that Twelve immediately warmed to.

“Flit won’t believe this when I tell him,” he beamed. “Except . . . Oh!” His grin grew even broader as he reached up to pluck something from Twelve’s hair. “He’ll have to now!”

Twelve’s eyes grew wide as she stared at the tiny white spider in his palm. It was no bigger than her thumbnail. For once, she was speechless.

Foxpaw rummaged around in his voluminous pockets and pulled out a small desert-glass box. He slid the lid open, dropped the unwilling spider in, and returned it to his pocket with a happy sigh.

“Are you injured?” Dog asked the moxie, sniffing him inquisitively. Foxpaw seemed to see Dog for the first time and stared at him, openmouthed.

“You’re the Guardian!” he spluttered, his eyes drinking in Dog’s stone fur rippling in the cold wind. “What are you doing outside the lodge? Flit says the Guardian never leaves!”

“Flit is wrong,” Dog said.

While Six was rummaging for some dried fruit for Five and Foxpaw, Dog explained all that had happened over the last few days. Foxpaw’s golden eyes grew wider and wider as he listened avidly and chewed hungrily.