“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.”

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