‘My friend.’ He was about to point it out, but caught himself just in time. Rochant was a Deathless and Crowflies was a demon. They were enemies so he probably shouldn’t tell one about the other. Had he already said too much? Whatever he did, he always seemed to be letting one of his friends down. He bit his lip. This was all so hard!

‘What’s this got to do with my boots?’

Rochant coughed politely, cutting off Tal before he could work himself up again. ‘I’m sure that Sa-at knows where they are. He just needs a moment. Think back, when was the last time you had them?’

A memory came to him, of standing by the oak with the boots under his arm, the Red Brothers looming, trapping him against the tree. ‘There,’ he pointed to the spot.

Tal crawled over to look. Buried beneath a knot of roots was the toe of a boot. ‘The tree’s got them! You have to make it give them back.’

It will want to trade, thought Sa-at miserably.

The oak’s leaves rustled in a rather smug fashion.

‘Please, Sa-at, make it give them back.’

‘We should go sooner rather than later,’ said Rochant. ‘My enemies will still be hunting me.’

In a small voice, Sa-at replied, ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Can Tal manage in the Wild without his boots?’

‘No, my lord,’ said Tal.

‘No,’ murmured Sa-at.

‘Then the only question is how you get them back. Do you have something the tree wants that you are willing to give?’

‘It will want more bits of me.’

‘Are you happy about that?’

Sa-at gave a grumpy shrug and muttered under his breath.

‘What?’ asked Rochant. ‘I couldn’t hear you.’

‘It’s not fair.’

‘Life isn’t fair. If you want justice, you have to make it yourself. Would you like my advice?’ Sa-at nodded. ‘It’s easy to be trapped by a situation when you accept things as they are presented to you. Ordinary people react to what they’re given. They’re passive in the way they solve problems, not active. But we are not ordinary people, are we?’

‘I’m ordinary, my lord,’ said Tal.

Rochant chuckled. ‘There is nothing ordinary about a Gatherer making his own way in the Wild.’ And though Tal sat up a bit straighter, a grin splitting his face, Sa-at suspected Rochant was saying and meaning different things again.

He isn’t talking about Tal. He’s talking about me.

‘Tal has only recently started this life, but you haven’t, have you?’

‘No.’

‘You grew up here?’

‘Yes.’

‘And how did you survive?’

‘My friend helped me.’

‘You mean this Crowflies?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s it there, isn’t it? The Birdkin with the white beak.’ Sa-at nodded, wondering how Rochant knew. ‘Can you talk to it?’

‘Yes.’