Rosalind had been pacing a silent perimeter around the space where Cordelia slept, while Giles sat nearby, his fingers tapping a pattern in midair as if he were strumming an invisible lute. His hand stilled as he repeated blankly, “‘Something’?”

“The forest isn’t happy.” Cordelia wasn’t even thinking about her words; she was straining with all of her senses for clues as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her side ached when she moved, but not as much as it had earlier. The pain was much better. Surprisingly better.

But Giles sounded even more alarmed than before. “‘The forest isn’t happy’?” he repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your magic,” Cordelia said impatiently. “Is it still going, drawing those knights away from us?”

“Ah … no. It ran out, actually. A while back.” His shoulders hunched. “Well, that’s the problem with not training, I guess. I can’t keep it under control for very long. But they were running in the opposite direction, so—”

“I can’t hear anyone.” Rosalind had found herself a new and thicker stick while Cordelia was sleeping. She held it like a club as she drew closer to the other two, standing between them and the nearest trees.

“The animals can. They’re hiding.” The world had rebalanced itself around Cordelia while she’d slept; the ground stayed perfectly steady beneath her feet this time as she stood, without any need for a stick’s support. She rubbed hard with one foot at the bent grass where she’d lain, trying to hide the evidence from their hunters.

Then her eyes narrowed.

There hadn’t been any flowers growing there before. Now a curving arc of small, white starflowers blossomed like a map, outlining exactly where her body had curled.

Goose bumps prickled across her skin as her left hand rose instinctively to touch her waist. Her injury wasn’t burning anymore. In fact, she could have sworn that it had actually healed.

What sort of dream had she just had?

Giles was jittering nervously in place, a distraction in the corner of her vision. “If those knights are back and heading our way—”

“Can you tell how many of them are coming after us this time?” Rosalind asked Cordelia.

There was something tingling at the edge of her hearing, almost like a whisper—more than one?—trying to reach her from far away, but—

“No.” She tore her eyes from the white flowers and let out her held breath in frustration. “I just know they’ll be here any moment.”

“Then we need to go. Now.” Rosalind thrust out her old sword-stick. “Here. Use this again—”