Gonff perched on a rock. “Don’t worry, matey. If we ever come out of all this in one piece I’ll steal the biggest pie in all Mossflower, just for you.”

Dinny closed his eyes dreamily. “Urr, a roight big’n an’ all furr this yurr mole.”

Gonff broke into song.

It will be great, I’ll watch you, mate,
And you can dive right in.
But don’t sing with your mouth full,
‘This pie is all for Din.’
A crust as light as thistledown,
And filled with all you dream:
Fresh vegetables, the best of fruit,
All floating round in cream.

Dinny lay upon his back, waving stubby paws. “O joy, O arpiness, an’ all fur oi, ’ee say.”

* * *

The trek was long and wearisome; time stood still in the land of the mists. Martin longed to see natural daylight again, be it bright and sunny, or clouded and rainy.

They were negotiating a particularly soggy stretch of ground when Log-a-Log remarked to Gonff, “Here, d’you reckon things have gone a bit darkish?”

Gonff jumped onto a tussock of dry reeds. “That’s prob’ly because nighttime’s coming on, matey.”

Martin pointed. “Look, I can see the sky.”

Sure enough, the mists were beginning to thin. Pale evening sky was plainly visible from where they stood.

Gonff made a further discovery. “See, on the other side of this grass, there’s sand. Looks like miles of the stuff.”

Hurriedly they jumped onto the tussock to confirm Gonff’s sighting. Behind them, Marshgreen picked up the trident and waddled off, back into his domain of swamp and mist.

The questors gazed in wonder at the scene before them. On the horizon the sun was sinking in a sheen of pearl gray and dusty crimson. Martin’s paw shot up, pointing northwest. “Look, the flames of Salamandastron!”

That same evening, the Corim assembled in the main room of Brockhall. There was much to be discussed. Goody Stickle bustled about laying the table, with Coggs firmly attached to her apron strings. The little hedgehog did not complain; besides, speaking through a mouthful of hot acorn scone dripping with fresh butter and damson jam was not quite the form for budding warriors and daring escapers. He waved in passing to Ferdy, who was seated in a deep armchair with Ben Stickle.

Between bites of his scone, Ferdy related a highly colored version of their adventures.

“So me and Coggs broke the door down and pounced on these three weasels—or was it stoats? No, they were weasels. Anyhow, there was six of them, great ugly vermin. Hoho, did we ever give them what for! The wildcat Queen was there, but she took one look at us and ran away. Good job, too! D’you know, Ben, me and old Coggs there, we had to carry four squirrels off through the trees—or was it otters? No, it was squirrels, I’m sure. Saved them from those Kotir soldiers, though.”

Ben Stickle wiped jam and crumbs from Ferdy’s mouth.