Tick looked at his feet, almost expecting to see little fairies running around to avoid being squished. But of course all he saw were his shoes and a thin crack on the stone road.

“Down there?” he asked.

The man made a noise somewhere deep in this throat, a cross between a cough and the clearing of phlegm. “I reckon that’s what I said, ain’t it? Who in the guppy-guts are you people?”

Tick fumbled for words, glad Sofia spoke up first. “We’re just up here exploring, that’s all. Of course we know what the Roofens are and that we’re standing on them.” She gave Tick an annoyed look. “That we’re on top of the buildings.”

“Ain’t usin’ dem brains a’yorn too much up here, wanderin’ ’round like three hillbillies lookin’ for moonshine. No, ma’am, ain’t too smart.” The man leaned over and spat something dark and disgusting on the road.

“My name’s Sofia, and this is my friend, Tick.” She gestured with her thumb. “And this is Paul. To tell you the truth, we are really lost, and kind of hungry and cold.”

“Mmm-hmm,” the man said with a grunt, eyeing Sofia up and down as if checking for ticks. “Come along, then. Ol’ Sally’ll take right good care of ya.”

Paul spoke for the first time since the appearance of the strange man. “Is Sally your wife?”

The man laughed, a guffaw that hit the mist with a dull thump. “My wife? Boy, I ain’t got me no wife. You’re lookin’ at him.”

Tick was confused. “What do you mean?”

“Boy, what you mean, what I mean?”

“He means, what do you mean?” Sofia said, her voice returning to its normal arrogance.

The lumberjack threw his arms up in the air. “Feel like I’m talkin’ to kai-yotes who done got their ears chopped off. I’m tellin’ ya that yer lookin’ at Sally, and you best not say a word about it.”

“Your name is Sally?” Tick asked.

“Sally T. Jones, at yer service.” He bowed, sweeping his arms wide, then righting himself. His face had reddened from the blood rushing to his head; it matched his beard. “Named after my grandpappy, who was named after his grandpappy. See, Sally’s short for Sallivent, a name older than expired dirt, ya hear?”

“We hear,” Sofia said. “You have a woman’s name.”

Tick elbowed his friend. “Be nice,” he whispered.

“I like it,” Paul said. “Beats the heck out of being named Princess or Barbie, right?”

Sally gave Paul a confused look. “I’ll eat my own dandruff if you ain’t the strangest group of chirrun I ever done seen.”

“What’s a chirrun?” Tick asked.

Sally squinted in disbelief. “Chirrun. Ya know—you’s a kid, a child. More than one of ya—chirrun.”

“I think he means children,” Sofia said.