The howls sounded closer, their haunting calls bouncing off the trees, but Abbie was more concerned with keeping up with Foster as he dashed through the forest, clutching her by the hand. She wanted to look behind, to see what might be chasing them, but she was afraid she would trip and fall if she took her eyes away from the boy. 

She wanted to ask so many questions, but Foster held her hand in a vice grip, and she was soon dragging deep gulps of air into her lungs as she did her best to keep up. Tree branches loomed overhead, their dense canopy casting the ground in shadow as they grew closer and closer together, the way ahead becoming less clear. 

As Foster pulled her straight toward an enormous oak tree, Abbie shrieked, trying desperately to free herself from his grip as he sped up. At the last moment, he waved his free hand, the tree trunk splitting silently lengthwise and opening like a wardrobe as the two children tumbled inside.

She gaped up at the crack of forest light before it disappeared, leaving them in complete darkness.

“What—” she started, her voice thin and high pitched as she pulled her knees up in front of her, but Foster shushed her. 

After a moment, a warm orange glow enveloped the elf’s hand, coalescing into a small flame. Abbie wrapped her arms around her knees as she took in her surroundings. Sitting inside a tree was nothing like she might have imagined, had she ever considered it before. The room, if that’s what she could call it, was egg-shaped with polished wood walls and floor and just enough room for them to sit inside it. She opened her mouth to talk again, and Foster shook his head, his blond curls falling into his eyes.

“They are close,” he said, so softly she could barely hear him. The flame on his palm shrunk until it was just a tiny thing, and she stared at it, fascinated. 

How is he doing that? Is he holding a candle? Abbie leaned forward to get a better look and then peeked under Foster’s hand. There was nothing, only the small bit of fire inexplicably burning in his hand. Foster looked at her, and then toward where they had entered the tree, placing a finger against his lips.

Abbie frowned, listening intently just as a wolf’s howl tore through the air outside their hideaway. Startled, she jumped, her hand tightening on Foster’s arm. She was still clutching the daisy Foster had given her, and when she focused past it, she realized that she’d skinned her knee falling into the tree. Once noticed, the scrape suddenly became painful, and her eyes welled up with tears.

Foster’s eyes tightened as he followed her tearful gaze to a drop of blood beading up on her knee. Heavy footsteps padded the ground close by as whatever had been pursuing them seemed to pause, investigating the area outside the tree thoroughly. Foster brought his finger to his lips once more, and Abbie nodded, lips trembling and eyes wide. 

The moments stretched into minutes, but the tree was surprisingly comfortable as she leaned back against the curved interior. The scrape on her knee faded to a dull ache as the footsteps receded and the howling became more distant. She watched Foster, who crouched down where they had entered the tree, turn his head this way and that as he listened. The flame in his hand danced and turned green before he dismissed it, pressing his palm to the smooth wood in the sudden darkness.

The wolves had moved on, though with no trail to follow, they would likely double back. As the tree opened to release them from its protection, Foster cautiously poked his head outside. 

“They are gone,” he said with relief, pushing himself up and reaching down to help Abbie to her feet. 

She stepped out of the tree, looking back at the hidey-hole with wonder. 

“How did you—what was that? Why are wolves chasing us?” 

She backed away from the large oak as it began to close, bumping into another tree trunk. She stared at Foster and then sagged against the smaller tree, suddenly drained.

“Wolves work for the Queen. They always have. Because you are not meant to be here, and I certainly was not supposed to bring you here…” His voice trailed off helplessly, his eyes flitting back and forth quickly, as if parsing through disjointed thoughts. “They must have sensed the gate opening and trailed us from the pond.”

“Are we safe now?” 

Abbie rested her chin on one knee and tried, to no avail, to resist poking at the scrape on the other.

“For now. I disguised our scent, and the oak hid us well enough.” He rotated as he spoke, studying their surroundings.

“Well, that’s good,” she said, her eyes lighting up.

“They will return,” he cautioned. “To try to pick up the trail again.”

“Not so good,” Abbie said, twisting her mouth and pursing her lips.

“Yes, not so good.” Foster reached toward her, relieving her of the wilted flower she was still holding. 

When he tossed it away and it fell softly to the ground, she gave a little sigh of disappointment, half expecting it to explode like a hand grenade or to emit a puff of smoke. 

“Is the Queen bad? Or… evil?” Abbie looked up at Foster. “She sounds scary.”

“Not evil,” he replied. “Powerful. The Queens—there are two of course—keep everything in our land running smoothly. They… well, of course the stealing of children is bad but that doesn’t happen anymore.” He looked sideways at her. “Not that I know of, anyway. And it isn’t like the Queen herself is doing it.”

Abbie frowned. “Sounds kind of evil to me.”

“The Otherworld is tied to your world, and without the Queen’s power to enforce the Bargains both would dissolve into chaos. Trust me. Also, the Queen of Summer is much, much better than the Winter Queen. Our Queen is light and fair and causes warmth and everything to grow, while the other Queen… She is as hard, cold, and unforgiving as her season.”

“If your Queen is so nice then why are we running from her?” Abbie blew lightly on her skinned knee.

“She isn’t nice, she is fair. Those who break rules are punished. And you do not wish to be punished, trust me.”

“We should go—and I still have something to show you.” His green eyes twinkled as he changed the subject, and a smile lit up his sun-browned face. “Come!”

Abbie straightened her damp shorts and followed Foster as he worked his way between the trees. 

“Isn’t this like… a trail? Won’t they follow us?” She looked behind them, worried.

“Keep watching,” said Foster, stopping and waiting for a moment. Crumpled clover and bent branches stretched slowly back into place, erasing any visual proof of their path.

“Forest magic?” asked Abbie, her brown eyebrows raised high.

“Yes.” Foster grinned at how much the small display had impressed her. “Elemental earth magic with a lean toward wood and plants.” He put his hands on his hips, puffing out his chest with pride, and then beckoned for her to follow him again. “Come on—we should still hurry. The wolves can still catch our scent.”

Not eager to meet the wolves, Abbie scrambled after Foster as he led her through the trees. Now that they were traveling at a normal pace, she could take time to see where the flowers grew in patches of sunlight and smell the rich earthiness of the forest. She ducked under a low branch and scrambled over a fallen log, the forest floor caking her feet in dirt. Nothing poked or pricked her feet, though—perhaps because of something magical Foster was doing, she considered.

The existence of magic was not that surprising to Abbie. Her parents had raised her on a steady diet of fairy tales (even the scary ones) and stories in which children fall through mirrors or wardrobes and end up in wondrous lands of enchantment and adventure. Her mother had always told her they were make believe, even if they were fun to think about, but her father had usually followed those statements with a wink. Abbie liked to try to write her own stories, even if she didn’t know how to spell all the words yet. Lately, all her writings had revolved around Sammy. He was an adventurous dog.

“Do the animals talk?” she blurted, hurrying to catch up with Foster and his longer legs.

He looked at her strangely. “Do they talk in your world?”

“Well, no. But I thought… maybe they do here. Sometimes in stories the animals talk. Like the wolves. Do they talk or just howl?”

“Oh,” he said, holding a thin branch out of the way for her. “The animals are just like in your world. Mostly. Well,” Foster paused, thinking. “There are animals here you will never see in your world. They talk to each other, but they do not …talk like we do. The wolves are different, but it’s hard to explain.”

“Oh.” 

Abbie fell behind a step while she processed her disappointment. The trees thinned out, and she caught a whiff of something familiar in the air. Her stomach gurgled and growled, and she clutched it, suddenly remembering her lunch that she had been about to eat before the entire adventure had begun. The last she’d seen of it, it had been floating out in the middle of the pond.

The odor was unmistakable. “Bacon,” she moaned, turning this way and that to try to see where the delectable smell was coming from. She followed her nose, wandering away from Foster before the boy realized what was happening.

Foster’s carefully honed senses detected what they’d nearly walked into, and he lunged after her, his leaf shoes silent against the forest floor. 

“Stop,” he hissed, grabbing her arm just above the elbow and yanking her down behind a big leafy mass of raspberry canes. It was too late.

“Ow!” she cried, landing awkwardly on the ground. Foster grimaced at her, trying to communicate without talking, but she stuck her tongue out at him.

“What do we have here?” 

Both youngsters looked up at the new voice. A dark-skinned woman with tightly cropped hair and a hawkish nose loomed over them from the other side of the raspberry thatch. She took a bite from a slice of bacon, and Abbie’s eyes traced a long scar across the woman’s right cheekbone that disappeared under her ear. It made for a scary visage as they looked up at her.

Foster scrambled to his feet, pretending that this was his plan all along. 

“Merely picking berries,” he said, standing as tall as he could. 

The woman looked down at the thorny vines with their flowers and hard green fruits, and then back to the elf. He grit his teeth and touched the plant with a swirl of earth magic, ripening a handful of raspberries. He picked one and put it in his mouth, chewing without breaking eye contact with the stranger.

She grunted, amused, and finished off her bacon. Abbie watched every move of the tasty morsel until it disappeared. 

“Nothing to do with that pack that was running a ways over, I imagine.”

“Of course not,” Foster said, expertly feigning offense. “I am an apprentice Guardian. Foster,” he said, inclining his head just enough to be polite. The woman’s eyes tracked to where Abbie was still sprawled on the ground, and the elf hurriedly helped the girl to her feet. “Just a… dryad,” he said, “Newly born. I was showing her around the forest.”

“Not very leafy for a dryad,” mused the woman, her deep brown eyes shot through with gold. 

Abbie kept her mouth shut, but her stomach growled, and Foster sagged, desperate to get her away.

“Ah, the birches are not known for being very, uh, leafy when they are new. Something you learn when you are a Guardian,” he said, a bit too brightly, pulling Abbie close and slightly behind him.

“I’m sure it is,” the stranger said. Then she smiled, her hardened face relaxing. “I am Nadiene. Come, join us.” She gestured for Foster to walk around the berry thicket.

“Yes, please,” said Abbie before she could stop herself.

“We should be going,” Foster demurred simultaneously, meeting Abbie’s eyes awkwardly.

She shrugged a little and grimaced. Are dryads supposed to eat bacon? Well, this one is going to if she can get her hands on any. Abbie inched along the raspberry canes, trying to make her way around without leaving her guide behind.

Foster squared his shoulders. 

“We would be happy to accept your hospitality,” he said formally, and the woman chuckled.

“Come on then, little ones.” Nadiene stepped back from the raspberry vines while the human and elf made their way around to her campsite nestled in a grassy hollow. Lined on three sides by masses of thorny vines, it was a cozy little place with just enough room for her and her companion. “This is Charles,” she said, taking a seat on the ground and leaning her elbow on a hummock of grass.

Charles was a thick-chested human with a fiery red beard, and he looked up with interest as the two children entered the camp. Both he and Nadiene wore weather-stained garments of sturdy cotton and leather, clothing made to stand up to the rigors of a life on the move. Foster’s sharp eyes picked out the sheathed sword on the grass by Charles, and the long dagger belted to the woman’s hip. 

Abbie initially had eyes only for the tiny campfire and the cast iron pan resting on some stones beside it, but she slowed awkwardly at the presence of the hulking man. She was happy to slide behind Foster’s more familiar presence as they approached the camp.

“Are you hungry?” Nadiene asked mildly, indicating the pan and the lonely bit of bacon lying limp inside it with a jerk of her chin.

Abbie looked at Foster questioningly. 

“Dryads, of course, do not eat,” he said tightly.

“No?” she said mournfully. “Maybe if I just… tasted it… to be sure?”

He turned toward her, staring at her fiercely when he thought the two adults couldn’t see, and she sighed, sitting down on the grass.

“I would gladly share some bread,” Foster said pointedly, even though he wasn’t hungry. If formal hospitality rituals were observed, then he could relax.

Nadiene’s scarred face stretched into another smile, and she dug into her bag. “I’m sure I had some here… Did you eat the bread, Charles?”

“No,” he said. “We haven’t had bread in days, since the last village.”

“No bread, I’m afraid,” she said to Foster, who pressed his lips together and looked back the way they’d come. “We need no bread or salt to extend the hospitality of our camp, such as it is, to you, young elf. And to your charge,” Nadiene added, her eyes lingering on Abbie and her yellow T-shirt and denim shorts. “Be at ease—the wolves will not find you here.”

“How did you know they were chasing us?” asked Abbie.

The adults shared a look while Foster groaned inwardly.

Nadiene leaned forward a little, speaking conspiratorially. “I understand the howls, little one. Please, eat the bacon before your stomach growls again. I know you are no dryad, no matter what our Guardian here says.”

Not needing any more encouragement, Abbie scrambled over to where the pan sat, pulling the warm bacon free from the cooling grease. She let it drip for a second before eating it.

“You understand them because you are a wolf,” said Foster with sudden understanding, a terrifying chill running through him. Face to face with danger instead of evading it as they’d so recently done, he found himself trying to decide whether to abandon Abbie and run for it, or stay by her side. He was responsible for her, to a certain extent. Sort of. Not really, though…

Foster shoved away his disloyal thoughts nearly as fast as he’d had them. No true Guardian of the Forest would abandon their task so quickly in the face of danger.

“Not one of the bootlickers,” Nadiene said easily, the elf’s wariness amusing her. “I have no master but myself.”

Abbie licked her fingers clean, then frowned. “But you’re a lady.”

Charles laughed loudly at that, abruptly enough that both Foster and Abbie jumped, and so hard that tears formed in his eyes. 

“She’s no lady,” he managed. Nadiene pitched her bag into Charles’s belly, turning his laughter into wheezes for air.

“Your kind would call me a werewolf, I think,” said the woman. “Here we are simply wolves.”

“Not part of the Pack?” said Foster. 

She had called them bootlickers, which had many interesting connotations, Foster considered. He gave the only exit from the hollow a sideways glance, gauging the distance.

“Not anymore,” said Nadiene, leaning back once again. Her relaxed air now seemed like the languid posture of a predator, and the elf considered the Elements at his disposal. 

Middling to no affinity for Air or Water. Moderate Fire. Excellent Earth with an emphasis on woodscraft, Foster thought. Hiding is not especially useful when the enemy is already staring at you, but there is already a fire. It would not take much to—

“I think you’re good,” said Abbie, interrupting Foster’s escape plans. His mouth fell open at her abrupt proclamation.

“And why is that, little one?” asked the wolf, the corners of her mouth curling with amusement.

Abbie thought for a moment, not expecting to have to back up her statement. 

“The wolves chasing us are bad. Or, if they catch us, it’ll be bad. And… you seem nice.” 

Faltering now, Abbie thought over everything her mom had ever told her about talking to strangers. She pushed herself up to her feet, reaching for Foster’s hand.

“Perhaps I am only stalling you for the others,” suggested Nadiene.

Charles grunted. “Now you’re scaring them. Look, young elf, at my brand.” 

He pulled back the neck of his shirt, the laces loose enough to show a stylized rendition of the Tree of Life, the seal of the Summer Court, burnt into the skin of his left breast. The old brand had a newer scar near it, a simple block rendering of an F hovering above the Tree. Both were long healed.

“Did that hurt?” asked Abbie, leaning forward.

“This one did,” he rumbled quietly, touching the Tree. “The other I barely felt.” His big finger traced the F under his collarbone. Charles looked at the elf, raising one eyebrow as Foster met his eyes. “Do you understand?”

“The brand means he was a slave in a Summer house—to a lord or lady of the Court,” Foster said after a moment, explaining it to Abbie. “The letter above it indicates he was freed. He is human, like you, and is from your world.”

The big, red-haired man covered the brands, meeting Nadiene’s eyes before looking at the girl. 

“The Queen will not take you, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Thank you,” Abbie said, uncertainly, still not quite sure what was going on. It had been a very busy afternoon. “Can you help me get back home? You… you could come, too. I mean, if you want.”

“An excellent offer,” Charles said kindly. “I am afraid we are not equipped to take on the Queen’s guard, nor would I care to.” He looked at Foster, who wasn’t sure if he should be happy or sad that these adults seemed to be offering to take Abbie off his hands. “And you, elf, how came you to be in the company of a human child?”

“By accident,” Foster muttered. He spoke up, “I found her in the woods by a pond.” Abbie opened her mouth to expose his lie, and he amended quickly, “In a pond. I may have, ah, pulled her through.”

A silence fell over the group. Nadiene said, after a moment, “You opened a gateway?” Charles shook his head with wonder, either at the accomplishment or at how stupid he’d been to do it—Foster couldn’t tell which.

“I did not,” he blurted, in case any nearby tree was listening. “I saw them open the Gate last Equinox, to let the Spring Boar through. It is a bit of Fire and Earth together… I was only playing at it. I did not think it would work.”

“A fact I’m sure the Court will take into consideration,” said the wolf woman dryly. “What are your names?”

“Abbie,” said Abbie, smiling and trying to be polite.

“Foster,” said the elf, sagging down into the grass.

“And you are a Guardian? Not quite yet, I think,” mused Nadiene. “You’re doing your trials, or soon will be, I wager, before the wood elves initiate you.”

“Yes,” admitted Foster, uncomfortable at how quickly he’d been laid bare. 

He had much still to learn about guile, it seemed. His four-week sojourn into the Summer forests had just begun a few days ago. He could take nothing with him and had to find a suitable offering for the other Guardians to present to the Queen on his behalf. His parents had already bid him farewell, for after this, if he was successful, he would live with the other Guardians, seeing his folks only on feast days. If he were not successful, like if he accidentally yanked a human girl through an unauthorized gate before being chased by wolves and forced into an unlikely partnership with a pair of obvious ne’er-do-wells, well, then all his hopes and dreams would be over, and his life might as well be over, too.

He looked down with surprise as Abbie scooted closer and put her smaller hand over his as it rested on the grass. She curled her fingers around his, finding comfort in the gesture. Even though she barely knew him, she did know him more than she knew the woman and the man. 

“He’s taking care of me,” she said to the woman, trying hard not to stare at her scar. 

Nadiene looked at the unlikely pair, and then to Charles, her partner. “There is one possibility.”

Abbie perked up. “So, you can get me home?”

Charles looked at Nadiene blankly, and then straightened, his eyes sharpening as he shook his head. “That would be madness.”

“What would be madness?” asked Foster, completely confused.

“Summer’s Gate is too well guarded. But, there is another,” the woman said, the gold in her brown eyes glittering in the sunlight.

“Oh no,” said Foster, realization dawning.

“You’re insane,” said Charles, with respect in his voice. He grinned. “The Queen will not expect the girl to head for the border.”

Nadiene smiled wolfishly. “As Summer waxes, Winter wanes. It would be your choice, of course, Abbie.” She looked at the girl, who knit her brows together in thought.

She desperately wanted to go home. As amazing as her few hours in the Otherworld had been, she certainly didn’t want to stay any longer than she had to. She missed her parents, and Sammy, dreadfully. Abbie nodded, uncertainly, not sure what decision she was making. “I want to go home.”

The werewolf sat back, satisfied. “Very well. We can take you to Winter’s Heart.”