Danu save me! Something was moving on the island. Not the monster; its voice still rang forth from the high tower window. But something smaller, at the foot of the tower. A cloaked figure: one of them. I edged into the concealment of the trees, watching. The small one took something from its shoulder—a coil of rope—and weighed it in one hand, evidently preparing to throw. A sharp whistle pierced the air, and the monster fell quiet. Then, with a strength and accuracy that would have done a man of Grim’s size proud, the small one tossed up the end of the rope, and someone reached out from the high window and caught it. I had to remind myself to breathe. Show yourself, I willed the creature in the tower. Let me see what you are.

The small fey person, whose hood had come off to reveal a head of raven-dark curls, was doing something with its end of the rope. Ah. It was tying on a basket. Not a tiny basket like the one the small healer had carried, but a basket the size of mine. Supplies. But how could it be pulled up? It would be quickly snagged on the impenetrable barrier of thorns.

The small one was ready, the basket in its hands, the rope stretched taut all the way to the window. There was a creaking, a groaning, a shifting sound that rattled my bones, a sound that was nothing but magical. I did not see the thorns part; I was too far away, and the gap they made too narrow. But the small one seemed to step within the hedge, basket and all, and the rope became a near-vertical line up to the window. Someone hauled; the basket rose; at the window, someone took hold of it and lifted it in. A moment later the rope was released at the top and came falling down. The fey personage stepped out from the hedge, coiling up the rope as it came. There was that eldritch sound again—the hedge was mending itself. Startled as I was, I made sure I noted where the gap had been. In that precise spot I would make my own attempt to cut through the thorns. Despite the message to strike hard and strike true, I suspected my ax would play very little part in doing that job. If the conditions for breaking the curse were met, the hedge would open up and let me in.

Beneath my wonder at what I had seen, something was nagging at me, some detail. I pondered this while I watched the small person walk to the shore of the island, step into a tiny boat and pole the craft back to the riverbank. It climbed out and stood a moment on the shore, turning its head to look directly at me. I’d thought I was well concealed, but the fey have their own ways of seeing. Secret, someone whispered in my ear, but when I started and turned, nobody was there. And when I turned back, the figure on the bank was gone. Keep the secret.