Lily found a handkerchief in her pouch and used it to bind up her bleeding hand. Already, her mind was fashioning explanations. She knew that just a season ago, she would not have dreamed of deceiving her parents thus. But something had got into her; something had changed her. Perhaps it was all part of growing up.

She used her teeth to tighten the knot in the makeshift bandage. It was as she did so that she spotted the boat. Had it been there a moment before? She could not say, but now it bobbed in the shallows as if waiting for Lily to climb aboard. The little craft was shaped like half of a walnut shell, and was just big enough for one young woman to sit in and row herself to the island, had there been oars. Oh, but she wanted to go across. She wanted so much to climb that tower, climb to the very top where she could look out over the dark expanse of the forest and the long, silver winding of the river, and catch a glimpse of the mysterious lands that lay beyond. Although she knew it was foolish, she felt she might give almost anything to do that.

Perhaps there was a stick she could use as a pole, or a piece of bark for a paddle . . . She cast around for something useful.

“What will you give me if I take you over?” spoke up a wee little voice. And there on the sward was a wee little man not much higher than Lily’s knee, and clad all in green like the folk in the old tales. The diminutive fellow doffed his hat and gave Lily a bow. “You want to use the ferry, you pay the ferryman.”

“Ferry?” echoed Lily. “It’s rather small, isn’t it?”

“I think I can count up to one,” said the little man, “and one of you is what I see. Room for you, room for me. What will you pay?”

Now, Lily did not carry silver pieces or coppers or anything of the like when she went walking in the forest; why would she? Besides, she’d been taught not to trust the fey, and though all the fey folk she’d seen before had been tall and stately, who was to say they did not come in all shapes and sizes? Either way, she knew she should be careful. “What is the usual fee?” she asked, thinking of an old and disturbing story in which an unwary passenger found himself obliged to act as ferryman until he could convince someone to take his place. No matter how badly she wanted to explore the tower, she must not fall victim to a trick of that kind.

“A coin, a kiss, a tale, a promise. A bag of magic beans, a feather from a singing bird, a hair from your head.”

A hair. That should be simple enough. She was already plucking it when doubt came over her. “Why would you want a hair?”