And when she was done, she crept out from the den in the middle of the moonless night, when all the forest creatures were fast asleep. For she was the Keeper of the forest, the protector of its magic, and this was her battle and hers alone to fight. Only Shilling went with her, prowling on silent paws.

Holding the wooden sword by her side, Ivy strode through the forest until she came to its dark heart, to the grove of thorny trees.

And there, in the center of the trees, was a cottage, just as Ivy remembered it.

“Come out, witch!” Ivy called, raising her sword high. “Come out and do battle with me, the Keeper of this forest.”

Presently, the witch appeared in her white fur cloak, holding her long wooden staff. She cackled when she saw Ivy standing in the snow. “You think you can defeat me, girl?” she shrieked. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Ivy swallowed down her fear as the witch swept closer, holding her staff as if it were a club. Ivy raised her sword.

“I will give you one last chance, silly girl,” snarled the witch as she approached, her face bathed in shadows. “Run now. Leave this forest forever, and I shall spare your life.”

But Ivy had come to face the witch. And face the witch she would. She lifted her sword behind her just as the witch’s staff began to whirl in the air. Ivy let out a great cry and swung her blade.

When Ivy’s sword hit the witch’s staff, a very strange thing happened. For a moment, all was still. Then suddenly, the forest was filled with bright light, and in its glow, Ivy caught sight of the witch’s face beneath her hood. And she gasped, for the old woman’s face had changed once more, and Ivy could not understand what she saw.

In the next instant, the witch was ripped from sight, the light faded away, and Ivy and Shilling were left alone in the grove. But not quite alone, for moving through the trees was a pulsing, bluish light. As it drew nearer, Ivy saw that it was the woman in white, and she raised her sword again, fearing the witch’s tricks.

“Peace, my child,” said the woman, “for I am no witch. She has been vanquished, thanks to you.”

“If you are not the witch, then who are you?” Ivy asked.

The woman stopped in front of Ivy and drew off her hood. The face beneath seemed carved from pearl. “I am the same figure you saw in the forest all those years ago,” the woman said. “I am the moon that hangs in the sky, that watches over this forest and all forests, and that sometimes likes to walk among them on moonless nights.”

“But I saw you,” Ivy said, “leaving Poppy Cottage just before my gran died. You killed her!”