As Five sipped his tea, the color began to return to his cheeks, and it wasn’t long before the group were back on their feet. Five needed a lot of help to climb onto Surefoot, but then they were moving again, trotting to keep up with the moxie.

“What is this Oakhammer tree?” Five asked, his eyes wide as he stared around.

“Not ‘what’ but ‘who,’” Foxpaw corrected him quickly. He slowed down and rubbed his chin thoughtfully before turning back to them. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “The Heart Trees are unimaginably old and Oakhammer can be . . . uh . . . aloof.” Foxpaw glanced around, nervous. “He has a great deal of power, but very little patience. For all our sakes, don’t do anything that might insult him.”

“Insult a tree?” Five snorted. “Why would anyone bother doing that?”

Foxpaw flinched. “Saying something like that, for instance, would not go down well. We’re just specks in time to him, nothing more. You must ask your question politely and, if he refuses to help, walk away.” Foxpaw looked at each of them in turn. “Can you do that?”

Twelve nodded, intimidated and intrigued. The others nodded too.

The forest changed around them as they hurried on. The tree trunks got wider and the canopy even higher, but a feeling of claustrophobia grew steadily in Twelve. The farther they traveled, the more imposing and darker the woods became. Widge pressed himself against her throat, then thought better of it and disappeared into her bearskin. Eventually, Twelve took the moonstone from her pocket to light the way. Its clean, bright light eased her discomfort, but Five yelped when he saw the slumbering tree-faces illuminated.

“Shh!” Six hissed, prodding Five. “You don’t remember them either?” Five shook his head, eyes wide.

Foxpaw stared at the moonstone, his golden eyes almost green in its glow. “That’s a rare treasure you have there,” he said quietly. “It’s a very long time since a moonstone like that has been seen in these parts.”

“It’s not mine. I’m just looking after it for someone,” whispered Twelve, her voice catching. The air had developed a strange weight, prickling her skin as if she was being watched. It made her want to shrink into herself and disappear. Beneath her, Dog slowed. “Do you feel that?” she murmured to him.

“Definitely,” he growled. “I like this place even less than the rest of the forest.”

“We’re approaching the Heart Grove,” Foxpaw whispered to them. “There are defenses around it. Walk exactly where I do and don’t stop.”

The group exchanged glances, but this was their only chance of finding Seven’s trail again. It didn’t seem they had much of a choice.

Twelve followed Foxpaw as closely as she could—making sure she only trod where he did. Inside her furs, she could feel that Widge had curled himself into the smallest, tightest ball possible and was shivering with dread.