Snowpepper’s dance jerked suddenly, a sharp, stumbling motion like a puppet on strings whose puppeteer has tripped. The anomalous gracelessness of the faerie’s movement brought Quickfoot out of his reverie.

“Snowpepper, dear,” he called, “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I think so…” She shook her head, confused. “Something happened just now, I’m not sure what. I almost thought I felt Sy.. my otherside self back again. Just for a second, but it was so clear.”

“Oh, my,” Quickfoot said, “I do hope Mother Maples comes soon. So many things want her attention. I feel dreadfully inadequate. Is there anything you remember, dear Snowfoot?”

“Kind of, I guess,” she began, when the door opened and Mother Maples emerged. “Oh! There she is!” Snowpepper became animated with pleasure. “Mother Maples, we have lots to tell you, we’ve been waiting and waiting!”

Mother Maples’ rich brown had washed out slightly, as though milk had been mixed into the chocolate. She looked older, and very tired. “All right, little one, let’s go inside now, and we’ll talk there. I have news for you, as well.” Her sharp eyes spotted Winkling, still asleep on the grass. “And it appears we have company, is that right?”

“Oh! Yes, Mother Maples, it’s Winkling. She came from the Queen, she has a message. Winkling!” she cried, “Wake up, she’s here!”

The black faerie stirred, then rose to her feet in an awkward movement, her ragged wings unable to give her the lift she was used to. “Oh!” she said, “I’m so sorry to be caught napping, Mother Maples, please don’t tell the Queen! She would definitely turn me into a toad, or even a toadstool!”

The brown witch laughed softly. “Don’t worry, Winkling, child, I’m not inclined to bring my sister’s wrath down on your head. Your lapse is safe with me, and quite acceptable as well. If you’re tired, it’s only to be expected. Please, do come in, and we’ll have a chat. And your wings will need healing, that must be seen to soon.”

They all trooped indoors, where Mother Maples led them to a polished dark wood table, large enough to accommodate a banquet. Snowpepper didn’t recall having seen the table before. The house looked different to her. Nothing was arranged as it had been before they went outdoors. Perhaps things could change only when there was no one around to witness the change.

“Would anyone care for tea?” the witch asked. “I have a lovely variety of hexmint, quite memorable, I think you’ll enjoy it.” At their unanimous assent, she beckoned, and a teapot and several cups floated through the air to land with a clatter on the table. She poured them each a cup of the steaming infusion, and as they took their first tentative sips (it was very hot), she turned to Winkling.

“Now, little faerie, please. What is my sister’s message?”

“I do beg your pardon, Faerie Godwitch,” Winkling said hesitantly, glancing at the other two, “But I’m to give the message to you alone, if that’s not too much trouble. The Queen was very specific in her instructions.”

“Oh, dear,” Mother Maples sighed. “I do hate to do this when I’m already so tired, but it seems there’s no help for it. There’s no time to spare, I’m afraid. I must hear your message as soon as possible, knowing my sister; and then I must heal your wings, if they are to mend properly. I must also speak with Snowpepper; it’s quite urgent, in fact. So, I shall have to split myself and take care of it all at once.”

The rabbit and the two faeries goggled at one another. The Faerie Godwitch drew a thin crystalline rod from the bosom of her dress, gave it a quick flourish, and then she was alone with Snowpepper and Quickfoot.

“Where’d Winkling go?” Snowpepper asked, wide-eyed.

“She’s still here, dear, and I am talking with her, but we are split along parallel realities, very close together, yet still separate. Now, Snowpepper, you’ve something to tell me, something about your otherside self, is that right?”

“Why, yes, I do, how did you know, Mother Maples?”

“Let’s not bother with how I know for now, child, if you please; time is of the essence. What happened to you out there just before I came?”

“I was dancing, and just being, it was feeling so good,” Snowpepper said. “Then, I felt her, my otherside self, just for a minute, and I could see where she was.”

“And where was she?”

“She was on a beach, and there was a jungle, lots of funny looking trees like palm trees and that, and there was a talking bird, like a parrot, only red and blue. That’s all I could see, but I knew it was her seeing it and I was seeing through her eyes, just like she sees through mine… when she’s here.” Snowpepper looked sad. “I miss her, Mother Maples. I think about her all the time. Please help me get her back!”

“I shall do my best, little faerie. That’s all I can promise, I’m afraid.” The brown witch looked pensive for a moment. “Still, I have made some progress, I’m happy to report. I did find her, but I wasn’t able to get hold of her. I did, however, help her move from the dark place where she had been trapped. At least now she is in motion, which can only be an improvement. The more she moves around, the more likely she is to stir something in the dreamscape that will help me to get a fix on her.”

“Oh, good!” Snowpepper beamed. Then she frowned. “That is good, right?”

“Yes, dear faerie, it is good. It isn’t wonderful, but it’s an improvement.” Mother Maples sipped her tea with a distant expression. “There is some danger, however. It would be best to reunite the two of you as soon as possible. If you are willing, perhaps we may reach her together.”

“Yes, I’ll help,” Snowpepper said. “Of course I will. Thank you.”

Sylvie woke to find herself lying face down on a white sandy beach, foaming breakers rolling over her, soaking her to the waist. She wore her usual costume of jeans, t-shirt and sweater, and was definitely herself, not the faerie. Lifting her head, she tongued several grains of sand from her mouth and spit them out. She wiped the sand from her face and brushed more sticky grains from around her eyes.

The sun blazed overhead. She had no idea where she was. The parts of her clothing that were dry were crusted in salt, as if she had been tossed to the beach by the waves; the parts that were still wet were steaming in the heat.

“Have I been floating unconscious in the ocean?” she mumbled aloud, just to hear the sound of her own voice. Her throat was dry and the words emerged barely above a whisper. She coughed rackingly. “Oh god, where am I?”

She dragged herself to a standing position. She was so weak and sore, she moved with great effort. Brushing stiff salty strands of hair from her eyes, she looked away from the water to the shore, where a thick jungle grew. It was clearly tropical. Palm trees, thick-leaved vines, ferns the height of a tall man and odd looking plants she couldn’t identify grew in profuse abundance. She saw bright red flowers the size of a dinner plate and, wait, was that a macaw? The brilliantly-coloured bird, red edged with yellow, its wings and tailfeathers bright blue, fluttered into the air when it noticed her moving, then settled back onto its branch. It peered at her curiously with one small round eye, but stayed where it was.

“Hello, bird,” she whispered. Oh, for a drink of water! She was so thirsty her mouth and throat felt dessicated and leathery. Where on earth was she? Her mind felt fuddled, like wet cement slowly drying. She had to think! How had she come to this place?

The last thing she remembered, she had been in the odd glassy room with the wavering watery light, and the horrible voice was telling her things she hadn’t wanted to hear, things she could no longer remember. Something about Snowpepper and her… no, I won’t think about that now, she thought.

She dragged her feet over the sand to get to the shade cast by the jungle’s trees. She was afraid to go into the jungle itself—why, there were probably poisonous snakes, and spiders, and scorpions and things she couldn’t even imagine there. She imagined a jungle as a place teeming with poisonous or carnivorous life: plants, animals, insects and reptiles. Why, she might brush up against an innocent-looking flower and end up with a horrible oozing rash. Or she might inhale eggs that would hatch into microscopic worms that would burrow under her skin, make a beeline for her brain and lay their eggs there, slowly driving her blind, then mad. She’d heard about something like that once. If she fell into a pool of water (oh, but it would be worth the risk, she thought longingly), like as not it would be full of flesh-eating piranhas that would devour her in seconds flat.

She was occupied with thoughts such as these as she approached the edges of the jungle, so failed to notice when the macaw hopped from branch to branch to get closer to her until it was only a couple of feet from her head. When it spoke, she shrieked at the sound of its voice and fell, landing seat-down with a thump. The voice laughed raucously. Heart hammering, she stared wildly around. When she saw the macaw, she said, “Was that you? Is that you laughing? Quit it!” She was shaking, nearly in tears.

“Oh, girlie, don’t be so sensitive,” the macaw’s harsh voice scolded her. “You do look funny flat on your butt down there, you know. I don’t get a lot of laughs in my life, don’t grudge me this one.”

Sylvie shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. But really, she supposed it wasn’t any crazier than the place she’d been, where there were talking rabbits and faeries that flew, and danger all around. Where she had flown. She shuddered in agonized bewilderment. If only she could figure out what was going on!

“Okay, bird, okay, laugh all you want,” she snapped. “But tell me please, what is going on here? Where am I? How did I get here?”

“As to how you got here, that’s easy enough,” the macaw said, still chuckling in a voice like sandpaper rubbing on steel. “You floated, kiddo. Washed right up on the beach, just like jetsam.Or maybe it’s flotsam, I can never remember. Anyways, what you were doing before that is beyond me. And this place, well, it’s home to me, I don’t know of any other. Though I expect that’s not the answer you were looking for.”

“No. Not at all. But I guess that’s the best you can do. After all, you’re only a bird.” Sylvie stayed where she had fallen, her shoulders slumping. How would she ever find her way home from here? Then she remembered the transient home, and Carl, and her family and that she had run away. She had no home. She may as well live here as anywhere. At least she would have the macaw for company. Its voice was annoying, but it was pretty. Maybe it would drop some feathers and she could collect them and make herself a necklace.

With a groan, she relinquished this fantasy and got to her feet again. She had to have water. “Hey, macaw, or parrot, or cockatoo or whatever you are, I have a question,” she said. “Where can I find a drink of water? I’m dying of thirst.”

“Dying, are you? Well, girl, or gorilla, or monkey, whatever you are, I suppose if you walked down the beach far enough you’d find yourself a stream emptying itself ito the ocean. That’s what they do, after all. Though I’m surprised you didn’t think of that yourself, being so smart.” There was an edge to the raucous voice.

Sylvie groaned. “Oh, come on, how am I supposed to kow what kind of bird you are? And if you’re so sensitive about getting it right, why not just tell me? Give me a break, I nearly drowned and now I’m half dead of thirst and exhaustion.”

“All right,” the bird relented. “Since you are ignorant, I will tell you. I am a macaw, which of course only a fool and an idiot would confuse with a parrot or cockatoo. So now that we have established that you are a fool an an idiot who can’t think for herself, let’s get you watered.” He flapped his wings then flew a few hundred feet down the beach and waited for her there. “Come on! We don’t have all day, kiddo!” it called out. “You don’t want to die of thirst, do you?”

Sighing, not bothering to reply, Sylvie trudged through the shifting sands.

“Do you know Mother Maples very well?” Snowpepper asked.

“Everybody knows Mother Maples!” Winkling raised her eyebrows at Snowpepper. “But, of course you are an othersider. I might have known. Othersiders have a… an odor.” Her delicate nose wrinkled.

“What! Do you mean I smell bad?” Snowpepper sniffed at herself, mortified. “Oh dear, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…”

Winkling laughed. “Oh, it’s all right, please, it’s nothing you can help! It’s more of a feeling than a smell, actually. Don’t worry about it. All I mean is I should have known you were an othersider right away. But since you are one, it makes sense that you don’t know Mother Maples.”

“Tell me about her, would you?” Snowpepper asked humbly, still sniffing herself surreptitiously.

“She’s like a mother to us all, I suppose,” Winkling began. “Whenever anybody is in trouble, anywhere, all they need to do is call to her, and if they really require her help, they’ll find her. She’s always been here, even before the Queen, I think.”

“You talked about a direct way to get here. What’s that?”

“The inner way. That’s a portal you can step through to get to her house. The Queen uses one; you must have seen it when she gave you safe passage. It looks like a great oval mirror. Usually her messengers use the Queen’s portal to pass through to Mother Maples’ portal. I would have been sent that way, but…” she shrugged.

“I remember the Queen’s portal!” Snowpepper said. “She stepped into it and disappeared.”

“Thank you for sharing your information with Snowpepper, dear Winkling,” Quickfoot interrupted stiffly. He had been sitting off to the side since Winkling arrived, frowning slightly. “Still, dear faerie, you must have known I could answer these questions for you. I think that might have been best.”

“Oh, yeah, Quickfoot, I know,” Snowpepper assured him. “But I just thought of them when I was talking to Winkling, so I asked her. Isn’t that okay?”

“Yes, but…” he looked at Winkling. “It’s nothing personal, you understand, Winkling dear, but something feels wrong to me, and I fear it might be yourself. Please don’t be offended, but I think it best we not converse further until Mother Maples returns.”

“What? Quickfoot, goodness! That’s rude!” Snowpepper rebuked him. “Poor Winkling, she’s had a hard journey and I’m just trying to make conversation and help her to feel welcome, it’s polite, you know!”

“That’s all right, Snowpepper,” Winkling said, waving her hand in her direction. “I’m rather tired at the moment anyway. I believe I would like to take a nap.” Yawning, she wandered off a little way and curled up in the shade to sleep.

“What did you mean by that?” Snowpepper whispered. “Quickfoot, I don’t understand!”

“I’m not sure I can explain, dear little one,” Quickfoot said quietly. “And I am very sorry to have distressed you. But, you see, I was having a feeling I couldn’t deny. Ever since this faerie arrived, it’s been like an itch in my brain, a dreadfully uncomfortable sensation, and I can’t describe it better than that. But it doesn’t feel good or right to speak more with her until we find out from Mother Maples whether she can be trusted or not.”

“Why, she’s a perfectly nice faerie,” Snowpepper said. “She liked my wings! Look, do you see a pattern there—silver on silver, she said it was?”

“I’m sure there is one, dear Snowpepper, but frankly I’m too distracted at the moment to look.”

Disappointed, Snowpepper stood and floated listlessly around the walled-in garden. At length, she began to dance in the air, stretching her arms wide, then curling them around herself, bending her legs and twirling in an expressive free-form display of her emotions. Soon she felt better, and became caught up in her dance, rapt and transported.

Quickfoot watched until the graceful, spinning contortions grew too engaging for his state of mind. Then, he closed his eyes and withdrew to contemplate the itch in his brain.

“Wow, Quickfoot. You make it sound like Heaven.”

“Oh, no, dear Snowpepper, terrible things happen there, too. I must be truthful about that. There are nasty, hateful people, and violence happens, blood is spilled. There are things there that, if you saw them, you would be convinced that it was Hell. But for me, it has been Heaven. It’s much the same as here, really. Your mental and emotional state determines your experiences.”

“So you have to be careful there not to be afraid too?”

“Oh, no. It’s perfectly all right to be frightened, there. In fact, you might be quaking in terror and find a friendly person to comfort you rather than a predator who might want to eat you. There is more choice around feelings. It’s less predictable in that way. It’s more about how you are afraid than whether, over there. If you are honestly frightened, and face your fears without flinching away from them, then you are safer than if you try to pretend you’re not afraid. There’s no hiding it, here or there, though people there like to imagine that they are holding their feelings safely hidden away. But events know. Events are magnetized to the consciousness that creates them, you see.”

“Huh?” The conversation had gone deeper than Snowpepper could follow. “Um, hey, what’s that?” She pointed at a fluttering shape among the leaves of a prickly-looking bush nearby.

“That? Hm… let’s see…” Quickfoot rose to his feet and tiptoed closer to look. “Why… it’s…” He reached a paw in and withdrew a bedraggled black-winged faerie. “It was a trapped faerie. The prickles were holding her fast, poor thing. There you are, dear… ouch!” He dropped the faerie and snatched his paw away, putting it in his mouth to suck. “It bit me!”

The small black-winged faerie, Snowpepper could see now, had sharp needlelike teeth, which were bared defensively. Its wings were ragged and torn; its attempts to fly were unsuccessful and it fluttered to the ground, looking terrified. “Don’t touch me!” it shrieked, in a piercing voice. “Don’t come closer! I know the Queen! I’ll tell! I will!”

“Oh, the Queen, is it?” Quickfoot said indignantly. “And just what do you think, biting the hand that saved you? What kind of a trick is that?”

“You were going to eat me! Don’t pretend you weren’t! Why else would you approach me when I’m frightened?” The faerie was in an obvious panic, now, twisting and turning, trying to watch in every direction at once.

“Oh!” laughed the rabbit. “I see. Well, you may not know it, but you are in the Fairy Godwitch’s refuge. Here, you are exempt from the normal laws of the land. Nothing will eat you here, except for the prickle bush which was doing its best. Still, it can’t be blamed for being a prickle bush,” he added, with a nod to the bush, which rustled its leaves in appreciation. “What were you doing in there, anyway?” he peered at the faerie over the rims of his spectacles.

Upon hearing the name ‘the Fairy Godwitch’, the little faerie relaxed visibly. “Oh! So I made it! Goodness! I feared I never would. I was lost, I had no idea… everything got turned around, and then I saw the two of you and tried to hide, but in the wrong place, and, well, I’m sorry, and thank you, in that order, if you please.”

“Well, it’s sort of a rule that one doesn’t find the Fairy Godwitch’s demesne unless one is in dire straits and feeling desperate, so your experience is not surprising.” Quickfoot looked at her even more closely. “What is surprising is that you knew what you were looking for, and that it seems you are not an othersider, yet you came the difficult outside way, rather than the usual direct inner route.”

“No, I’m not an othersider,” she admitted. “Actually, I come from the Queen with a message for Mother Maples, but she wouldn’t let me come directly as her messengers usually do. I believe it was a test, or perhaps a punishment, to send me the hard way. Our Queen is, well… you know.”

“Yes, capricious, indeed we know,” Quickfoot smiled and nodded. “Still, you made it, dear Winkling. Welcome, on behalf of Mother Maples, who is not here to greet you, for she is rather busy at the moment. But I believe I may speak for her. If you come on the business of the Queen, then what choice is there but to welcome you? Besides,” he added, eyeing her torn wings with concern, “you are hurt. Mother Maples will see to you as soon as she can, I’m sure. In the meantime, please rest and tell us what you can of yourself, though I understand that your message must be for Mother’s ears only.”

“Oh, yes, my life is forfeit if I breathe a word to anyone else,” the faerie said. With relief, she reclined on the soft grass next to Snowpepper, who took the opportunity to examine her closely without appearing rude. Winkling had black wings with an intricate lacy pattern of thin red lines woven through them, rather like the veins on a leaf, now torn in several places. Her skin was black, her shock of tufted hair was bright red, and her wispy dress was translucent red. Snowpepper thought her quite lovely.

“Oh dear, it’s such a shame about your beautiful wings!” she cried in distress. “I hope they will heal properly. They are so lovely!” she said, with some envy. “Mine are just plain silver. Yours are much fancier!”

“Thank you,” Winkling said politely. “Your wings are beautiful, and they do have a pattern, it’s just that it’s silver-on-silver so it’s hard to tell. I appreciate your concern. I’m sure my wings will heal just fine. Mother Maples is a renowned healer; it’s one of her many gifts.”

They looked at each other. “I wonder what she’s going to do?” Snowpepper said.

“I daren’t even imagine, dear Snowpepper. Whatever it is, it will help, of that we can be sure. Around here, she is known as the Fairy Godwitch, second only to the Queen in importance, but between you and me, I think she surpasses the Queen in actual power. The Queen is mostly for appearances and… but… oh, heavens, don’t ever let her know I said that!” The rabbit leaped up and looked wildly around, then, satisfied that the Queen had most likely not heard him, he relaxed slightly, though still shaken.

“Oh, silly me… what was I thinking? Truth be told, dear faerie, the Queen is far more than appearances. She is judge and jury here. She has absolute power over life and death. Have you noticed how frightened everyone is of her?”

“Have I ever!” Snowpepper exclaimed. “And me, too! Why, Sy—my otherside self wanted to go to her first, because she thought the Queen would help us find you. But I got so scared that we had to give up, because everytime I tried, something would try to eat me.”

Quickfoot nodded. “Yes, that would make sense,” he said. “We all know in our bones that seeing the Queen is like rolling the dice… playing Russian Roulette with our lives. She is notoriously fickle. She may reward you today and turn you into a rabbit tomorrow and then set her dogs after you.” He shuddered and mopped his brow with a floral-pattern embroidered handkerchief, procured from his waistcoat pocket.

“A rabbit?” Snowpepper said. “Why, Quickfoot, is that what happened to you? Did she make her doggies chase you?”

“Happily, dear Snowpepper, that is not the case, you see; for as you can see, I am still here, hale and hearty. Had her dogs ever once got my scent in their nostrils, they would not have given up until I was in shreds. Still, the sort of rabbit I am is not the sort that dogs generally chase. This dear, fuzzy form of mine is no punishment from the Queen!” Quickfoot stroked the soft fur of his thigh lovingly. “When I say rabbits, I mean small helpless creatures with no waistcoasts. Mice are another favourite of hers. When she does that, you are done for—eaten, gone for good, from this world and the other.

“Sometimes, it’s rumoured, if she’s terribly bored, she will play such games with her courtiers. I can’t speak for the truth of these tales, but I have noticed that there seems to be a rather high turnover in the Court.”

“Boy, I’m glad we didn’t go there, then.” Snowpepper leaped up. “Hey, Quickfoot, let’s go outside!”

Quickfoot finding this agreeable, they exited through the back door they had been shown, to a small walled garden that was, as Snowpepper declared, “Gloriously pretty!”

Flowers of every shade and hue nodded gently in a scented breeze, growing up in profusion on trellises so that they grew taller than twice Snowpepper’s height. Herbs, ornamental shrubs, trees of ever description grew rampantly. A small patch of soft emerald-green grass caught Snowpepper’s eye, so they wandered over to curl up in the sunshine and continue their talk.

The flowers and plants greeted them as the passed, of course, but like the flowers lining the front walk, they were unfailingly polite and non-intrusive.

“Tell me about the otherside, Quickfoot, would you please?” Snowpepper begged. “I think I have to go there sometime, if S—if she is right. And I’m so afraid, because I don’t know anything about it at all. Are you from there?”

“I suppose I must say I am, dear Snowpepper,” the rabbit admitted. “Though many years have passed over there since I first found my way into this land of dreams and changes.

“I first came here as a boy, perhaps ten years old, I can’t remember. I had run away from home, and it was the night of the full moon in August. That was when I received my rabbit shape, of course, and my name.

“When I came out again, I found that nearly twenty years had passed in the world. It was a shock, I’ll tell you, for it seemed to me that I had spent but a single night here. Yet, the next time I came over, I seemed to be here for years and years—that was when I learned most of what I know about how things are here—but only an hour had passed over there. There is never any telling.”

“What’s it like, there?” Snowpepper wanted to know. “Is it like here at all?”

“Oh, not in the slightest, dear me, no. For one thing, hardly anything is alive. There are many things—rocks, buildings, gates—that have no voices, no personalities, that never change or grow a face at all. Only people and animals are alive. Well, plants are alive, because they grow, but I’ve never seen one that could talk.”

“What! Oh, that’s horrible!” The faerie was appalled. “It sounds like an awful place! How do you stand it? Oh, I don’t want to go!”

“Ah, but listen, dear Snowpepper, for I have not finished. Things have the appearance of being dead. But if you look at them very closely, it becomes obvious that the magic is still there, but contained. It’s quite lovely. I’m in love with the place, myself. And people are wonderful! So kind, so sweet and caring. They help each other there! If you are afraid, you can ask for help, and receive it! Nothing will eat you! Snowpepper, my dear, I suspect you will like it more than you think.”

“Tell me, Quickfoot, if you would. What sort of person was Snowpepper’s otherside self? Did she adjust easily to new situations?”

“Hm, that is, I can’t say really,” Quickfoot mused, who was absently scratching behind his ear with a hind foot, “I only knew her in situations that were new to her, a few days only. She had run away from her home and was on the streets when I found her, and something about her drew me. She was looking for her dear brother, who had been lost to her, you see. She was… strong, yet brittle, if you know what I mean. At the end of her tether. Close to a breaking point, it seemed to me. She had been very hurt and lonely for a long time and had closed off her heart, or so I perceived. I felt called to help her to open to the beauties and possibilities of life.”

“And how did you experience your otherside self, Snowpepper?” Mother Maples turned now to Snowpepper, who was blinking and gazing back and forth between the faces of the other two. “What sort of person did she seem to you?”

“I don’t know what you mean!” the faerie complained. “What are you guys getting at? She was… she was just herself, just the smart one inside who knew things. She could be crabby, though. She was always on the lookout for danger. But that was a good thing because there was danger and she helped me avoid it.” She pondered a moment. “Actually, I guess she was getting worse before we got here. A lot of bad things happened in a row and she started to think everything was a bad thing. She didn’t want to come here, Mother Maples, even though I knew it was right to! She was convinced you were a horrible witch who would eat us up. She was starting to make me mad so I told her to be quiet.”

“Now, that is interesting,” Mother Maple said. “Snowpepper, did it seem to you that she, your otherside self, that is, was approaching a crisis point?”

“A crisis? You mean, like…” Snowpepper shook her head. “I don’t understand that word.”

“What Quickfoot called a breaking point. A person who is very ill might get sicker and sicker until they experience a crisis—the peak moment of their sickness, where they must choose to live or die. The crisis is the turning point. It can be very frightening and even dangerous, but once it’s passed through, the sick person begins to become well, and healing is assured. From the way you described your otherside self, I imagine it must have seemed like she was going a little bit insane. Growing irrational and paranoid, words which you probably don’t understand either, poor faerie!” Mother Maple smiled affectionately at Snowpepper. “Those states, in a being who is normally at least somewhat open and trusting—as she must have been or she wouldn’t have opened to Quickfoot, or his otherside self, so easily—can indicate that a crisis state is being approached. How was she the night before you went to sleep?”

“Why, I don’t know,” Snowpepper said, her lower lip beginning to tremble. “I… I told her to be quiet, and she was quiet. Later she started asking me questions, but she was bugging me so I…I ignored her.” Tears began to flow over her silver lashes. “After that, she never said another word. And then, because I was so tired, I just fell asleep without saying anything. Oh dear, Mother Maples, it’s my fault!” she sobbed.

“Not at all, no such thing, child,” Mother Maples soothed her. “You did nothing at all wrong. You see, as she approached her crisis, you would naturally polarize away from her—want nothing to do with her, in other words. You and she are opposite sides of one coin; you are meant to be existing in different worlds from each other, but still conscious and aware of yourself as self while you are being the other, as Quickfoot and his otherside self are. It could be said that you are ill; not you separately, Snowpepper, but the whole self which is made up of the total of the two of you. You don’t blame a sick person. You help them to heal! And that is what I am here to do.”

“I don’t feel ill, Mother Maples,” Snowpepper said earnestly. “In fact, I feel wonderful. Just delicious! But I feel terribly sad and scared for poor Sy—my otherside self. And…” she gazed around wonderingly at the house. “Why aren’t I in danger being scared?” she asked. “Everytime I’ve been afraid outside, something has tried to eat me. But everything is staying quiet and… why aren’t things in here acting like they’re alive? Everything out there sure does!”

“Ah, I wondered when you would notice that!” Mother Maples looked at Quickfoot. “That is part of the nature of my home. It was created to be a sort of neutral zone, a space of safety for those who needed to adjust to the changeability of the world outside. Many beings find themselves unable to cope. This is a kind of halfway house for newly arrived othersiders, those who survive long enough to realize they need help and can muster the wit to ask for it. Which you did very well indeed, incidentally,” she smiled at Snowpepper.

“Everything in this place is under a binding of peace and quiet. The furnishings won’t talk to you, unless you speak to them first, and nothing can enter without my express permission. The contents of my home are unobtrusive and there are many spells in place to help it to be so. Even the plants in the garden by the path are relatively well-behaved.”

“Yeah, I noticed, they were friendly but they didn’t try to touch me.” Snowpepper shuddered, remembering the flower faeries. “I was sure glad about that!” She thought of something. “Why did the gate tell me to stay on the path? He said ‘we wouldn’t want to lose you.’ He made it sound dangerous or something.”

“Indeed, it would have been. There are many spells woven about this house and demesnes to keep it safe but even I haven’t the wherewithal to cover every inch of the outdoors. So that part of the garden area is for looking, not walking in. Things can get pretty strange out there, in reaction to the spells perhaps. Had you wandered from the path, you would indeed have been lost. I certainly don’t recommend it. There are protected areas in the garden, and later on, if there is time, I will show you where they are.”

Mother Maples stood and brushed the lint from the skirt of her velvet dress. “Now, little Snowpepper, and Quickfoot also, I must retire to be alone, where I can conduct a little more research into this impasse. All of what we have discovered about your otherside self is well and good, but the fact remains that she is lost and must be found. People in crisis require assistance. Now, I have some leads from what you’ve told me, and I’m off to explore them. Please feel free to explore the house; if you encounter a locked door, trust that it is locked for a reason. Outdoors, of course, stay on the path in front, although there is an enclosed back garden, out that door,” she pointed to a small oval portal tucked into a curve of the wall beside a massive bookcase, “that is perfectly safe if you wish to enjoy the sun.”

Snowpepper and Quickfoot found themselves alone in the room, its rich wood floors and elegant furnishings burnished with bright sunlight slanting through the many thick round glass windows.

Snowpepper woke slowly, sensuously, seduced into wakening by a delicious sensation of utter well-being. When she opened her eyes at last, she saw Mother Maples sitting at her bedside with a peaceful, enigmatic smile.

“Good morning, child,” she said, in her chocolate voice. I trust you are well rested?”

“Ohh, yes!” Snowpepper exclaimed, stretching luxuriously in the bed. “I slept wonderfully, like a baby. I don’t think I even dreamed.”

“Really? You don’t recall any dreams at all?” Mother Maples’ voice held the slightest edge. “Please, do try to remember. It’s rather important, dear. I definitely felt strong dreaming last night. I couldn’t be mistaken about that. It woke me, actually.”

“Uh… gee, no… I don’t think so,” she said, squinting, trying to remember. “Um…” Hey Sylvie, she thought, Did you have any dreams last night?

When Sylvie failed to answer her, she felt a mild alarm. Sylvie had always been there. Sylvie? Sylvie, answer me! Alarm began to escalate to terror.

“Mother Maples, she’s gone! My otherside self is gone! At least she’s not talking to me!” Snowpepper clutch Mother Maples’ arm, panic in her wide silver eyes. “Oh, please help me find her! I need her!”

“Snowpepper, little one, back up a moment and start over… please!” The witch stroked Snowpepper’s cheek gently. “Everything will be all right, I promise you that. I can see we do need to talk. I rather thought we did. Now, tell me, pray, what are you on about? What do you mean by your otherside self?”

“Oh, Mother Maples, she’s… she’s me, my otherside me, and I can’t say her name or I’ll be sent over there, where she comes from,” Snowpepper said. “She’s smarter than me, and she knows things, but this time I knew something… she didn’t want to come here, I told her to be quiet because I wanted to come, I knew it was right to, and she did be quiet and now… now she won’t talk and I can’t feel her!” Snowpepper burst into anguished howls.

“There, there, child,” Mother Maples murmured. “Go ahead and have yourself a good cry. From the sounds of it you’re ready for one. I’ll be back directly.” She bustled off while Snowpepper sobbed herself into relative calm. When the witch returned, she brought someone with her.

“Why, hello, dear Snowpepper,” the someone said. “And what are you doing here?”

“Quickfoot! Oh, Quickfoot! You’re here!” she shrieked. “We couldn’t find you, we got lost… How did you get here?”

“Why, I… I’m not exactly sure, dear faerie, come to think of it,” the rabbit said, scratching his furry chin thoughtfully. “I wasn’t here, and then I was, just now, in fact. I do believe I’ve come for you, though I didn’t quite know it. I have been looking for you, after all, and now here you are!” He nodded, beaming happily.

“Don’t be silly, rabbit,” Mother Maples said sternly. “I brought you here. Now, tell me please, what do you know of this faerie’s otherside self? She’s got herself in a state because she says her otherside self won’t talk to her anymore. I’d never heard of one making the transition consciously before.”

“What? Her otherside self? S—” he stopped abruptly. “I mean, yes, of course, I know the dear girl, she was herself before the Queen gave her safe passage by turning her into Snowpepper here, which is the usual way of things. But after Snowpepper came, the otherside self was gone, and all I heard about was Snowpepper.” He looked at Snowpepper expectantly.

“Oh, that’s right,” Snowpepper said. “She didn’t start talking to me until I flew away, after…” Her gaze hardened and she drew back from Quickfoot. “After you and Barkley were going to tie me down so I couldn’t fly! So I got mad and flew away from you!” She glared at the rabbit, who looked abashed.

“Yes, yes, I saw by your response that it was a bad, a terrible suggestion,” he admitted humbly. “But it seemed like such a simple solution at the time. I am very sorry I didn’t consider how it would feel to you, dear faerie, so soon after getting your wings for the first time. It was inconsiderate of me, quite insensitive. Please do accept my sincere apologies.”

Snowpepper beamed. “Sure, Quickfoot, I accept it. You’re sorry, that’s good.”

He added, “Barkley also regretted his hasty action. He asked me to convey his sorrow should we meet again. I must say, I am most happy and relieved to find you intact! I feared for you, terribly, I certainly did.”

“It’s okay about Barkley, it’s good that he’s sorry too. I’m not mad anymore. But I hope being scared didn’t get you into too much trouble,” Snowpepper said anxiously. “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of anything bad happening to you!”

“I’m fine. I’m here, aren’t I?” the rabbit said dismissively. “What I’d like to know is, how did you make it through? You were very angry when you left and I could sense the vibrations of your anger, and then fear, from quite a way off after that. You were dreadfully visible, you know. I felt sure you would meet a dreadful fate.”

“I would have, but it was her,” she said earnestly. “My otherside self. She came out and talked to me, in my head, you know? And she warned me when things were about to eat me so I could get away in time, and she told me things about how it all worked because she learned fast and figured it out. She’s smart!” Snowpepper said this with pride. “So much smarter than me. I couldn’t have made it without her.” Her lip trembled. “And now I can’t find her, I can’t feel her, she’s gone!”

“Hm,” Quickfoot mused. “Later I’d like to hear about what she learned and what she told you, if you wouldn’t mind telling. But for now I’ll believe I’ll stay on the subject. When did your feeling of having an otherside self in your mind stop?”

“This morning, I asked her a question, and she didn’t answer,” Snowpepper said in a quavering voice. “I called her, again and again, but she never said a word. So she must be gone!” She cried again, soft heartbroken tears. “What will I do? I need her!”

“Well, as to that, dear Snowpepper, I don’t know that it’s strictly true,” Quickfoot said thoughtfully. “After all, I don’t carry my otherside self around with me in my head while I’m here, nor does he have me cluttering up his head over there. It must be rather crowded with two minds occupying the same head.”

“You don’t have an otherside self to talk to?” Snowpepper said, shocked. “But… why not? And… but… where will I go when Sy—when she goes back to the place she came from? What will happen to me?”

“Why, you’ll become her and continue on as your otherside self, as she should have become you here. It’s rather unusual to split apart into two selves the way you say you have, dear Snowpepper. My own otherside self and I think of ourselves as two sides of one coin. It’s so much neater that way, I think, and it is the way things are normally done.” He peered over his spectacles at her. “Are you sure she really was there, dear faerie? Is it possible you were talking to your own self, your own mind?”

This confused poor Snowpepper terribly. “But…no! She was there. She was! She helped me, she talked to me. I want her back! I’m not smart enough without her!”

“Oh, my,” Quickfoot murmured. “Dear me, I’ve never encountered quite this situation before. What are you thinking, dear Mother Maples, about this?”

Mother Maples had sat listening to the two, looking pensive. She said, “It is unusual, no question of that. But I believe the faerie is right. She has divided into two distinct selves, each taking possession of certain personality traits and abilities. If that is the case, as I suspect, then our little Snowpepper is entirely correct. She does need her otherside self. She is not whole without her.

“My sense is that her second self has undergone some trauma. She must have been the one experiencing the powerful dream that awakened me in the night. It’s just barely possible that she’s still trapped there, in the dream state. It’s rare for that to happen, but then, everything about you is rare!” She cast a mildly ironic glance at Snowpepper. “You came to me seeking help, and now you require help for something that occurred under my roof. That is also unusual, child. Unprecedented, I must say. This place is a safe haven, that is its nature and purpose.”

The brown witch took a deep breath. “But since it has happened, it is clearly my responsibility to remedy the situation.”

As the door slid open, Sylvie peeped out from the back of Snowpepper’s mind, her curiosity momentarily outmatching her despair. The figure at the door went against all her preconceptions of what a witch was supposed to look like. A small, plump matronly woman stood there, wearing a simple brown velvety-looking dress that matched her rich brown gray-streaked hair that was arranged in a puffy style, like a halo, pinned into a loose bun at the crown. Warm eyes of the same rich brown twinkling behind rimless spectacles, a smooth, rosy complexion and a plump, sweet mouth curved in a welcoming smile made her look more like Mrs. Santa Claus than the wicked witch she had expected.

“Well there you are, dear,” she said, as matter-of-factly as though Snowpepper had just stepped out for an hour or so. “Come on in then, let’s get you settled.”

Sylvie felt a faint stirring of reluctant hope-against-hope.

“Oh, thank you so very very much, Mother Maples,” Snowpepper said, who knew the woman’s name on sight, of course. “I’m really so tired and sad and just, well, thank you!”

Mother Maples smiled gently and nodded, then turned away to indicate that Snowpepper should follow her. She stepped over the rounded threshold to find herself in a splendid open space, with a gleaming wooden floor and a huge freestanding fireplace in the middle of the room which was made of the same sort of stone and enclosed with curved bubble glass windows irregularly spaced around it. On the other side of the glass, orange flames flickered cheerfully.

The house was much larger inside than it had appeared to be from outside. Snowpepper was led to a cozy couch near the stove and there she curled, her wings neatly folding into fist-sized balls on her shoulder blades. This involuntary reflex startled the faerie, since she hadn’t known her wings could do that. She felt worn out, yet so safe and good that she was giddy with it and laughed aloud. “Oh, Mother Maples, I found you! I’m so glad you’re here, I’m so glad you’re real!”

Who is she? Sylvie asked Snowpepper.

She’s Mother Maples, Snowpepper explained impatiently, as though this should meann something to Sylvie. She’s, well, herself. She helps people.

How do you know that? Sylvie demanded.

Snowpepper didn’t answer. Her attention was on Mother Maples, who had begun to speak.

“So, my little one, would you like to talk now, or rest first?” she said in a rich sweet voice, its velvety resonance caressing Snowpepper’s ears. “You look dead on your feet, child. I’m guessing rest first. What say you?”

“Oh,” Snowpepper said, gratefully, feeling the enervating exhaustion she had been holding at bay sweeping forward to occupy her body and mind. “I’m so tired, dear Mother Maples, I do wish I could just sleep for a while if that’s all right.”

“Of course, Snowpepper dear. Come with me. I’ll show you to your bed.” She led the wobbly Snowpepper to a cozy bed nestled into a curvedrecess in the wall. It was covered with a soft puffy patchwork comfortor and boasted many colourful cushions and pillows. Heaven! Snowpepper sank ecstatically into its embrace and continued immediately into a deep slumber. Sylvie went with her, an unwilling passenger on the trip to dreamland.

“Now, Sylvie, what is it that you wanted to know?” The voice emanated from the wall, the roof, the floors of the circular hut she found herself in. These were translucent, like foot-thick glass, and illuminated from outside by a sourceless greenish watery light. She could see no exit.

“Who’s talking?” She stood slowly, and looked wonderingly at her hands. They were clearly her own hands and not Snowpepper’s, which were long and slender with sparkling silver-white nails. Her hands were square, with chipped, unpolished fingernails.

“The one who will answer your question,” the voice replied. “But you must ask before you can be answered.”

“My… question?” Sylvie felt dazed, out of balance. “I… how did I get here? What is this place?”

“That is not an easy question to answer. Your question contains assumptions that are incorrect. Such as ‘this is a place’. This is not a place, but a state of being. But we both know that is not your real question.”

“Let me think,” Sylvie temporized. “Yes. I do have a question. How can I get back to the real world without hurting Snowpepper? This situation is just impossible, it looks like one of us will lose no matter what. She wants to stay here but I belong there. If you could answer me that, I’d be grateful, thanks.” She felt it prudent to be polite to the unknown speaker.

“Leaving aside the issue of what is or is not ‘real’,” it answered, “The answer is quite simple. Snowpepper is yourself. You need to grow closer with her so that your goals are hers, and hers are yours. In the process you will both change. You will each lose some of what you think of as ‘yourself’. However, yourself was never all of you to begin with. Snowpepper is the part of you that was lost on the journey from childhood to where you are now. You left her behind because you believed that the so-called ‘real world’ had no place in it for such things as magic, flying or innocence of heart.”

“What…” Something about this answer confused Sylvie terribly. She reeled inside, her mind thudding. She felt uncomfortably as though a wet finger had been inserted into her head to stir her thoughts about. The visceral feeling of violation at such an impossibly intimate level enraged her, as well as what the voice was saying.

“No!” she shouted, “That’s crazy! Snowpepper is sort of me because the Queen turned me into her when I got to this weird place, but I’ve never met her before, I’d remember! I don’t want to change, I like the way I am! I’m good enough already, I don’t need to adopt some ditzy fairy and make room for her in my life! My life is hard enough! You don’t understand!” She was screaming, her throat distended, her entire body shaking.

Slowly, the watery light dimmed, leaving her in growing darkness. The voice remained silent.

“Hey! Whoever you are, don’t go away! Don’t leave me here by myself in the dark! Please! I’m sorry I yelled at you! Come back!”

“Nooo!” Sylvie clutched her head, shrieking, and fell huddled into a ball on the hard floor. She sobbed until everything around her dissolved into nothingness.

Snowpepper was growing exhausted. She felt as though she’d been flying forever and she longed for a safe place to rest. Ever since they’d left Quickfoot, it seemed there was danger everywhere. She didn’t want to be alone with Sylvie anymore. She felt dreadfully lost and bereft. She began to moan softly to herself as she flew aimlessly about, perfectly at a loss. Her moans intensified until she cried out involuntarily, “Please, I need a place to rest. I’m tired, and I’m lonely, I want somebody to talk to, somebody to trust, somebody who will make me safe, oh, somebody to help me…” The words came straight from her heart’s desire, and they felt potent, like spells.

Sylvie heard Snowpepper’s plaintive wails with a sharp pang of hurt. Why wasn’t she enough? Couldn’t Snowpepper talk to her? Didn’t she trust her? Then, like an icy needle of guilt freezing her mind, she admitted to herself, I’m not being honest with her, and she must sense that somehow. She felt horrible about herself beyond belief. She wished she could vanish from the faerie’s head and magick herself back to the city, on the streets where she deserved to be, begging for scraps from strangers.

She felt so awful that she hardly noticed when Snowpepper abruptly veered off the aimless path she had been pursuing. She didn’t even want to look out there anymore. Her attention stayed focused within, on her own misery.

Snowpepper had spotted a stone cabin on a tiny knoll. It was a snug-looking place, tidy, if a bit odd-looking. A flagstone walk led from the front door and meandered through a riotous yet well-tended vegetable garden to a strange, rickety-looking gate made of assorted odd-shaped pieces of wood, shell and what appeared to be bone, tied tightly together with bits of coloured rags and scraps of twine.

This cozy dwelling drew Snowpepper to it like a magnet draws iron. Her heart swelled and lifted, and her flight straightened and gained strength. There she would go. It felt right, it was right, she knew it the way she knew up from down. She forgot, for the moment, that Sylvie existed.

She landed outside the gate, feeling it would be rude to alight within the garden. As she approached the gate to open it, a sleepy-looking eye opened directly below the latch and blinked at her. The orb was large and brown-irised, with thick bristly lashes and yellowish whites.

“Oh, hello,” she said shyly. “I’m lost and tired and all alone and please, may I come in?”

As Sylvie heard the faerie speak these words, she suddenly awoke to what was happening. Oh no! That brainless nutbar faerie was about to blunder into another trap! Would she never learn? Snowpepper, what are you doing? she shrieked in her mind.

You be quiet now, Sylvie, the faerie shot back with surprising sharpness. I know what I’m doing–I do! Just please don’t bother me now, okay?

Taken aback by her tone, Sylvie curled up into a tight ball in the back of Snowpepper’s mind. She was useless, horrible, a burden. She didn’t know why she was allowed to live anyway, even this abbreviated, impotent half-life in the back of a faerie’s ditzy mind. Despair yawned like a void, ready to swallow her, and she would give herself to it if she could.

A faint, morbid curiosity kept her going. She wanted to know what form their doom would take. She peered out now and then without paying too much attention. She only wanted to know what the monster looked like and when it was going to eat them. Of course there would be a monster, there had to be a monster. It was only a question of when.

The gate blinked again and yawned, revealed a wet red mouth full of gleaming snaggle teeth.

“Oh, another one, is it?” it spoke drowsily in a creaky but kindly voice. “Sorry, dearie, you caught me napping. Well, there’s no point waiting, is there? Go on in.”

“Thank you ever so much, I can’t tell you what this means to me, I’ve been at my wit’s end,” Snowpepper began. “It’s so kind of you to let me in without even knowing anything about me! I’ve been lost for so long and I was just really getting desperate, you know?” She might have continued, but the gate interrupted her.

“That’s clear, or you wouldn’t be here, would you?” it said. “Thanks are well and good, and you’re welcome of course, but dear me, child, what are you waiting for? I’d like to get back to my nap. Save your thanks for herself, and run along now.”

“Oh… of course! Sorry.”

Snowpepper lifted the latch and slipped through the gate. As she did so, the gate said in a confidential tone, “Oopsie, dear, I almost forgot to say. Do be very careful to stay on the path. We wouldn’t want to lose you, now, would we?”

“I will,” Snowpepper said. She stepped onto the stone flags and drifted down the walk, in a daze of happiness. Everything was so beautiful, so perfectly right! As she passed, the flowers and plants in the garden nodded and smiled at her sociably, but kept their fronds to themselves, which she greatly appreciated.

“Ooh, look” she heard a whisper, “It’s a new one! Isn’t she adorable, the witch will love her…”

Sylvie would have made a face, if she’d had one. So that was it. The foolish, trusting faerie had led them right to a wicked witch’s cabin, who would doubtless turn them into a toad or a newt and boil them up in her cauldron to make her witch’s brew. She couldn’t muster the energy to care much at this point, though. One dire fate seemed to her as good as another.

Snowpepper paid no attention. She had never felt more assured of the rightness of her choice. She knew what she knew. She had asked for help, and there could be no question that this was the help that had manifested in response to her plea. Sylvie couldn’t be expected to understand, of course; she was only an othersider. It was as though she had discovered a sense organ her otherside self lacked, and the information she received through this sense was unimpeachable.

As she approached the door, she felt lighter and lighter until she was no longer walking but floating along with her toes brushing the flagstones of the walkway. Her arms spread wide as she grew closer, as if to embrace the cabin and its contents. She wanted to sing! To shout with joy! But her heart was too full. Once at the door she waited, breathing deeply, expectantly. Her eyes shone with a radiance that might have made Sylvie wonder, if she could have seen.

But she couldn’t. Sylvie waited like prey for a predator in the back of a cave.

The cabin door was made of many overlapping and interwoven pieces of different colours and grains of wood, fused together in a random yet beautiful and perfectly balanced way. It was oval in shape, like an egg. The cabin itself was made of flagstones very like those in the walkway, with grasses and tiny wildflowers sprouting between the stones. There was a round clear bubble of a window in the door and several others, like glass blisters, randomly located on the cabin’s walls. The walls curved oddly, rippling slightly at the base like a seashell, appearing to have grown rather than been built with a plan or design in mind.

The roof was sod, an extension of the garden, with the same varieties of flowers and vegetables, squashes and tomatoes and lettuces growing in rampant profusion yet without crowding. Each plant had room to spread and receive nourishment. The vegetables were at varying stages of bright-coloured ripeness, while the flowers were all in perfect bloom. It was a picture of serene harmony within chaos.

Snowpepper gazed raptly about her as she waited for the door to open, as she knew it must. Shortly, it began to slide silently to the left, into the stone wall.

The faeries were so hard to resist! Their soft fluttering hands stroking her hair and body stirred pleasurable sensations and made her want to do anything they asked. Their melodious, coaxing voices threaded bewilderingly into her mind, confusing her, making her feel fuzzy-headed.

Snowpepper! This isn’t good! Sylvie’s voice was sharp in Snowpepper’s head. She wished the voice would go away, but it persisted. They’re doing something to you! Can’t you feel it? It’s like a drug, I can see it working in you but it’s not affecting me.

Snowpepper didn’t care. She opened her mouth and sighed softly. “Oh, faeries, you lovely things,” she cooed. “No, I don’t want to go to your house, or yours, can’t we all just stay together?”

She felt them drawing her deeper into the floral jungle. She began to feel the stirrings of mild alarm. Maybe Sylvie was right. She struggled half-heartedly, said, “Okay, faeries, I have to go now,” but their multiple grip on her tightened. They were definitely pulling on her now.

“No, come, you i come,” they sang together, their sweet voices forming a chorale of hypnotic harmonies that hid the insistent meaning of their words. “We want you. Come, come now, you must come.”

“No,” Snowpepper said, resisting the best she could. “No, faeries, I have to go… Didn’t you hear me? Hey, faeries, hey…”

Her limbs didn’t seem to be working properly. The flower faeries had little trouble slowly tugging her along. She felt too confused to be very frightened or angry, but in the back of her mind, Sylvie was growing frantic.

Snowpepper! Snow, for godsakes, wake up! Can’t you hear me?

Yeah, I can hear you, came Snowpepper’s muzzy thought. But I can’t seem to do anything. My body’s all fuddled up. I don’t like that. Her thoughts were petulant, helpless.

You’re drunk! Or stoned, or something, Snow! We have to get out of here! Something bad’s about to happen, I just know it!

Oh, Sylvie-pie, you worry too much, Snowpepper’s thoughts were growing increasingly indistinct. Maybe it’ll be… fine… Snowpepper lost consciousness. Sylvie was left alone in the faerie’s mind, being pulled swiftly through the twining tendriled corridors of the flower jungle. Where were they taking her?

I have to do something! she thought frantically. I just have to! She clenched her fists, and discovered to her shock and amazement that she could. Snowpepper’s fists clenched in response to her own impulses. It must be because Snowpepper is unconscious, Sylvie realized. That leaves me in charge of the show.

Thankfully, Sylvie seemed to be immune to whatever intoxicant they were using, and Snowpepper’s body responded to the adrenaline rush. She began to fight the faeries in earnest. “No!” she shrieked. “Let me go!” Blindly, she clawed her way out of the grasp of their hungry fingers. They were rather easy to fight off, she realized, if you were determined and used your full strength. They were like the flowers, weak and yielding. They lured their prey by the beauty of their scent and the hypnotic effect of their voices.

And prey she was meant to be, she discovered. As she broke off and flew awkwardly away, kicking away their importunate hands, she caught a glimpse of the destination they had been pulling her toward. A monstrous pink caterpillar lay just beyond the next bank of flowers. Its gaping maw, large enough to easily swallow her whole, made sucking motions like an infant awaiting the nipple.

The sight galvanized Sylvie to redouble her efforts to fly. She was not getting the hang of it, though; she lacked Snowpepper’s expert, intuitive flight sense. She couldn’t seem to make the wings work properly. She couldn’t sense them kinesthetically as a part of her body, and as a result could only flap them in a mechanical way; she could barely stay aloft. The flower faeries, though individually weak, still outnumbered her greatly, and more reinforcements were arriving by the second.

She was still flapping ineffectually, being pulled on by more and more gently persistent hands, when when she remembered, like a light bursting in her brain. All she had to do was speak her name—Sylvie—and they would be transported back to reality! Jubilantly, she opened her mouth to do so when she felt Snowpepper stirring back to consciousness. Before she say the word, the faerie had reoccupied her body and it no longer responded to Sylvie.

Fortunately for them, Snowpepper grasped the situation rather quickly, considering how dopey she had seemed when she lost consciousness, Sylvie thought. She streaked speedily out of the flower jungle, leaving the flower faeries to find some other prey to feed their monster with.

Once they were safely away, Snowpepper cried accusingly, “You were going to do it! You were going to say the name! How could you!” She was shaking with indignation and reaction. The shock of hearing the name in Sylvie’s mind and realizing that she intended to actually say it had served as a bucket of freezing water to wake her completely.

Oh come on, Snow, Sylvie replied defensively. Give me a fucking break! They were about to take us down! I couldn’t fly—you were out of it—what would you suggest?

This shut the faerie up. She flew on in a sulk, leaving Sylvie to mull over what had happened. She was still not being straight with Snowpepper, and her conscience rankled her. She had tried to go home, and she was crushingly disappointed that her attempt had failed. The truth was, even if there had been no danger pressing, if she had the power to speak, she would not hesitate to say her name, the magic word.

Why couldn’t she tell Snowpepper what she intended? She felt like a terrible sneak. She was treating the faerie like an enemy or an obstacle to manoeuvre around instead of giving her the respect she deserved. As a part of herself, Snowpepper should have equal rights to decide what happened to them.

The truth was, and it was a hard one for Sylvie to admit, that she didn’t want to let Snowpepper have that power. She knew that, if she told her what she meant to do, the faerie would fight her. She would never consent to go over there voluntarily. She was terrified of the place, it was obvious. Sylvie told herself that deceiving Snowpepper was the only right and efficient thing to do. She belonged on the other side, she didn’t belong here, and Snowpepper was going to have to deal with that, that was all.

But still, it didn’t feel right. Her heart ached.