We look at them one by one until we reach a picture of mountains and a waterfall. Beneath it are the words “The End.” I guess this is the last picture in the book. “This looks familiar,” says Rose, her fingers tracing the strange pointed lines of the waterfall. Suddenly she gasps. “Arthur, this is one of Mitch’s tattoos!”

As soon as she says this we realize that all the pictures in the book are of Mitch’s tattoos, and we go back through them trying to remember where they were drawn on Mitch. “This was on her wrist,” says Rose, pointing at a blue wave. “And this starfish was on her shoulder . . . I think.” She turns to looks at me, worry written across her face. “Arthur, I can’t remember what Mitch’s voice sounded like!”

“Scary,” I say. “Loud.”

She smiles. “Yeah, you’re right.”

It’s getting late, so Rose packs everything away, then puts the box back in Mitch’s bag.

I get back into my sleeping bag, and across the fire, Rose lies back and frowns up at the sky. The smile that was there a moment ago has gone.

“We’ll go back to Mitch’s hut soon,” I say. “She’s got to come back sometime.”

“What?” she says, looking confused, then she goes back to frowning and staring at the stars. They turn her face orange, then blue. The stars do look beautiful, and soon I find that I’m drifting off to sleep, my mind full of waterfalls and rafts and one very angry unicorn.

Chapter 12

I’m not sure what wakes me, but something pulls me out of my deep, heavy sleep.

For a moment I lie still, not sure where I am. Then I see green and pink stars and the glowing fire and I remember, I’m in Roar.

This thought should make me happy, but an uneasy feeling creeps through me. What just woke me up? I pull the sleeping bag tighter around my shoulders and glance at the trees that surround Win’s cave. My eyes linger on the branches as they shift and sway in the breeze. I turn back to the fire. It’s just embers now and hardly giving off any light. Beyond it I can make out the silhouettes of Rose and Win curled up in their sleeping bags . . . and something else.

Sitting between Rose and Win is a hunched shape.

Cold fear creeps through me. What is that?

I squint, not sure if I can trust my eyes. I’ve just woken up and it’s a dark night . . . but the shape really looks like a person. It must be a rock, I think as I blink into the darkness, or maybe Win’s cloak slung over a branch.

Then I hear a faint but distinct rustle of feathers and a harsh “Arthur . . .” whispered on the night air.