‘Kittimew, not cat,’ said Fishbone. ‘And that is not me you is holding.’

Liska turned her night vision back to Lug in time to see him grasping a tripwire of twined ivy with his hand. It was tied to a wooden peg, pushed into the ground.

‘Lug!’ she yelled, leaping towards him. ‘Don’t pull that! It’s a . . .’

There was a sudden whooshing sound and the forest floor around them rose up, enfolding, enveloping them completely. Clouds of damp rotten pine needles poured over them, tumbling into their eyes, mouths and noses, and then they were swinging back and forth, squashed against each other too tightly to even move.

‘. . . trap,’ Liska finished. A net trap. It had scooped them up like a bunch of sticklebacks in a pond, and now they were dangling, stuck and helpless.

Chapter 11

Rotten pine needles, stinging her eyes, tickling her nose. They were even in her ears, for Tree’s sake.

Liska sneezed and blinked. She tried to get a paw up to rub her face, but she was pinned between the net and someone’s body. She smelt dust and age. A trace of mildew. Elowen.

Rope burned against the back of her wings as she swung from side to side. Thank the roots I kept them folded. She could easily have broken one of the fragile bones when the trap sprung. And then she would be flightless for months while it healed.

‘Is everyone alright?’ Elowen asked. Her voice sounded muffled, as though something was squashed against her face.

‘I is stuck!’ Fishbone was wiggling in the net, hissing and scratching.

‘We’re all stuck!’ Lug snapped.

‘Quiet!’ Liska tried to butt them all with her head. ‘Do you hear that?’

There, further off amongst the piney darkness, came the sound of heavy footsteps. Footsteps coming steadily closer.

Lug began a low moaning sound that quickly built up into a full-fledged whine. ‘It’s the giant! We’ve been trapped by the giant!’

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The footsteps stopped outside the net. There was a jerk and then they were swung upwards.

Lug’s screams blended with a terrified yowl from Fishbone. Liska turned her head, trying to get an eye to one of the holes in the netting. She had a brief glimpse of a craggy face: eyeballs as large as dinner plates and a crooked mouth wide enough to bite her in two. It seemed to be covered in green fur, stringy and wild . . . and then it was gone. The net sailed through the air and came to a bone-cracking halt, banging up against the giant’s back. It was like slamming into a rock ledge on a bad landing.

‘Owww! My leg! I think I broke my leg!’

‘You is screaming in my ear!’

‘Your stupid cat claws are digging into my neck!’

‘Kittimew, not cat, you pasty worm fiddler!’

‘QUIET!’