Little One flutters out of my hand and around the webs above, waiting.

I read some of the words again.

Harry’s overwhelming feeling was of gratitude for an escape that had seemed impossible.

I take courage.

“Little One,” I say, pointing my flashlight at the floor so that she perches there, looking at me expectantly. “We can fly,” I say, with only the overflowing hope that the words can be true.

Little One chirps as if excited, as if she’s been waiting all along for this.

And then, she does something I don’t expect. She begins to grow.

She grows and grows and grows, so big and bright and blue that the cave starts to feel small. It’s getting tighter and tighter inside the cave, and I hurry over to slip the spinning spider into my pocket.

And then there is a deafening crash and rocks begin to crumble around us. Little One has outgrown the cave, and burst its walls.

In another moment, we are standing in open air—the canyon walls towering impossibly high above and all around us.

Little One looks down at me with enormous glittering black eyes as big as I am, and then she lowers one wing. I climb onto her back.

And we fly, fueled only by wishing and words.

I’m clinging tight and we’re barreling up, up, and up. I don’t remember where we need to go, but Little One does. And then, up above us, and getting closer fast, is an enormous cocoon.

A dark figure comes crashing out of the entrance and onto the landing, throwing her arms into the air as she sees us. We do not slow down.

She runs out onto the bridge across the abyss, letting out a horrible screech. Thousands of moths rise from all around us. But we are too fast, too big, too enraged.

Just as the figure reaches the middle of the bridge, we dive. I only know what Little One will do a moment before she does it.

She soars at the witch, opens her beak, and devours her.

With a scream cut short, and a cage of moths busting open as it flies out of her hands, the witch disappears into the bird’s gaping beak.

And is gone.

I watch the moths fly out of the cage, and flutter upward. They are not the only ones.

If the moths of the canyon were loud a moment ago, they are chaos now. They flap so loudly, hitting the walls, that it feels as if my ears will break. It’s a hurricane of them, so many, I can barely see anything else. The walls of the cavern begin to give off a low moan.

Walls begin to crumble all around us.