“There. Sad. Lost.”

We go on walking. Feels like we’re going deeper into the forest. Start to wonder if it’s a trick. In the old tales, you drink or eat fey food and you’re trapped in the Otherworld, can’t ever get back home. Blackthorn would have said no. But I do feel better. Feel like, if I hadn’t drunk whatever it was, I’d be going right down in the dark.

More walking. Uphill, downhill. In between rocks, some places a squeeze for me. Makes me wonder what would happen if I got stuck. Under bushes. Across a stream. I do it in a long stride. Little fellow jumps. Like a cricket. Like he weighs nothing at all.

“Heard somewhere your kind don’t like giving your names,” I say by way of conversation. “Sorry I asked, before.” That’s what it says in the tales, some of them.

“Grim,” says the little one. “Not your real name.”

That shakes me. How could he know anything about me? “It is now.”

He nods. “My name, too tricky for your kind,” he says.

I remember a bit more. Blackthorn telling a tale as we walked, something about clurichauns. Don’t think this is a clurichaun, though.

I’m wondering if the walk’s going to take all day, and worrying about Blackthorn, when we come into a clearing. The little one hasn’t taken me to find her at all. He’s tricked me. He’s led me into a trap . . . or maybe not. I take a proper look around and I see why he’s brought me here. Another tree’s fallen. A dead tree. Not a big one, but big enough. And all along one side of it are small folk like my one, lined up and pushing hard, grunting with effort, but the tree’s not budging an inch. Which is bad because someone’s trapped underneath. “Get me out! Help!” comes the scream, high and shrill, loud enough to cut through the monster’s crying.

I roll up my sleeves and move forward. The wee folk let go the tree and scatter in fright. Close up, I see a small arm sticking out from under the log. Takes me right back to Mathuin’s lockup and Slammer crushed under a heap of stones. Push that picture down. “Move back,” I say, though they have already. “I’ll do it.”

Need to be careful. One wrong move and the little one underneath will be crushed to nothing. Surprised it’s not dead already. I squat down, lift quick and clean so one end’s on my shoulder and the other on the ground, pivot the trunk around and lay it down again in a safer spot. Doesn’t take long. Dust off my hands on my trousers. Wish Blackthorn was here. She’d be the one to patch up any injuries, like she did the time I lifted a cart off a fellow. Feels like long ago.

“My friend,” I said. “Blackthorn. The one I’m trying to find. She’s a healer. She could help you.”