She sent him rushing about, short tail swishing, getting a feel for how fast he could move and turn. Then, with a bit of hesitation, she turned him loose, ordering him to charge straight at the trunk of a great old oak on the other side of the clearing.

The results were spectacular. Spike’s stubby legs got him up to full speed surprisingly quickly, and he lowered his head with its four horns and bony crest just before impact, slamming against the wood with an explosion of splinters and torn bark. Spike bounced back a foot and shook his head, slightly dazed from the blow, but the tree gave a tremendous crack and split where the dinosaur had struck it. The crown of the oak tipped sideways to lean drunkenly against its neighbor and the canopy shuffled and shed a torrent of yellow and brown leaves.

“I’m not sure Master Geryon would appreciate you destroying the foliage,” said Ashes.

Alice looked around until she found him, lying on his back on a thick tree branch at the edge of the forest, soaking up the setting sun and looking at her, upside down.

“I needed some room to practice,” Alice said. Plus, though she’d never say it aloud, these days sometimes she just wanted to break something. She let Spike vanish with a loud pop and reached for the tree-sprite thread. “Besides, I can fix it.”

“It’s so hard to resist playing with a new toy.”

Alice glared at him, a little embarrassed, because that was exactly what she had been doing. She didn’t like to think of her creatures that way, though. Her father had always taught her that living creatures were to be respected, and they weren’t toys. They’re more like . . . pets.

But she didn’t know how to explain that to what was, after all, a cat, so she just walked over to the broken tree and put her hand on the trunk. The tree-sprite’s power flowed through it, animating the splintered fibers and knitting them back together, and with a great creaking and groaning, the top half of the oak lifted back in position. More leaves fell, spiraling madly to the ground.

“Are you still angry at me, then?” she said to Ashes, when the tree was repaired.

He blinked, and rolled onto his stomach, wiping at his ear with one paw. “Nah. Too much work, and it’s too nice a day.” The cat yawned. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Alice said.

Ashes looked around with exaggerated caution, and lowered his voice. “By the way, Mother said you should come by tomorrow and see the acorns.”

Alice blinked, and matched his quiet tone. “Why? Has it worked this time?”

“She didn’t tell me. Come and see, she said.”