“We caught him!” the leader insisted, but hope rose in me as I saw a crack in their resolve. “Dragged his sorry ass across six clans, and you want to give him up? His wife is dead, and he’s on a quest to spread his seed to the wind. Why else would he be wearing all that red?”

Excuse me?

Ivy made a small sound of disbelief, and I turned to Jenks. He looked as mystified as me.

“Uh, that’s what we do where I come from to get safe passage through another pixy’s territory,” Jenks said.

“You don’t just let them cross?” a pixy woman asked, her brown silk furling as she darted up. “How do you find enough food to survive?”

A cultural difference? I thought. The entire mess was the result of a misunderstanding over the color red? “I’m sorry for the mistake,” I said, for the first time thinking we might get out of here without a fight. “Can we have him back? He won’t wear red anymore. We didn’t know.”

The pixies were flitting in the sun, the shadows of their wings flashing over Ivy as they argued in small knots. Slowly I began to relax.

“He’s a proven provider!” the head pixy said. “We need new breath in our children!” But the bows had been eased and the sword tips had fallen.

“Look,” I said, taking a half step forward and halting when the pixies bristled anew at me. “He didn’t know wearing red meant that he was trying to spread his, uh, seed.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know!” Jenks said, flushing. “I can’t stay. I gotta get back to my kids!”

“I’m sure we can work out an exchange for your efforts in kidnapping him and bringing him here,” I added. “Honey or something. What do you want?”

I held my breath as the three leaders looked at one another and then at their surrounding people as if considering it. I’d buy them an entire tanker of honey if that’s what it took.

“Can you get us…maple syrup?” the pixy in yellow said. “A gallon, maybe? The real stuff, not that lizard shit with the corn syrup in it.”

I exhaled, my breath shaking in my lungs. “Yes,” I said, seeing the lines in Ivy’s face ease.

The head pixy’s wings became a neutral silver, and he turned to the other two leaders. “For each of us,” he added, wanting more after I’d given in so quickly, and I nodded, smiling.

“Three gallons. But Jenks gets his sword back.”

“Done!” the three pixies said simultaneously, raising their weapons in salute, and the pixy standing beside Jenks cut his bonds. Jenks gave the buck a nasty look, letting the cut rope fall to his feet. His wings still flat to his back, he raised his hand to catch his thrown sword. Clearly not happy, Jenks jammed his sword away.

It was over, and the pixies by the far rock slide rose up in a whirlwind of sound and color, shouting, “Ku’Sox! The Ku’Sox Sha-Ku’Ru!”