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Every night he would slip slowly into bed, waiting for the welcome oblivion of sleep, and every night without fail he would sense with intense certainty the impossible truth.

He lay with his back exposed, and as he relaxed, they emerged from between his shoulder-blades. He could not see them, but felt them as real as if they were an arm or a leg. They were wings. Inky black in the darkness, they stretched slowly from his frame, and he closed his eyes as they wrapped around his sides, curling around his front, holding him in a feathery embrace. They were thick, soft and warm, and pulsed with his own heartbeat in the silent of the night.

He sighed, and the world of worries tumbled out of his brain and through his mouth with that sigh. He whimpered as a single tear formed at the corner of his eyes. He lay, too scared to open his eyes. Too scared, in fear that if he looked, and if he checked, it would all in a moment fade away.

She breathed in. With that breath came a rush of pain. Sharp and stinging. It crawled over her legs and arms, over her back and neck until all at once, in a matter of milliseconds it filled her world. It was like a ball of white light that flashed in front of her vision, filling her sight with spots and making her head whirl, and for a long moment she lay there, on her back, crying out in a single howl of hurt.

That was her world for uncountable seconds, until all of a sudden some other part of her mind whispered something that even her befuddled senses could not ignore. An instinct older than all of her thoughts made her suddenly gasp and she took as deep a breath as she could, just as she sank backwards into the muddy water, and all at once it enveloped her body.

The world that had been so bright and full of burning pain suddenly fell dark as she closed her eyes and sank downwards, her body betraying her as desperately she tried to move. It was like clambering through treacle, her joints refusing her every demand as she struggled to hold the breath she had taken. In moments she was completely disorientated, and as she realized she was trapped in that slimey, muddy prison she finally awoke to the horror of her helpless situation.

At that moment, a weight was thrust through the water beside her, then another on her other side. Blinded and panicking, she tried to turn, but in the next moment felt herself moving with the tide as she drifted back in a sudden wash of motion, then felt something clamp around her body, gooey and warm. She dared not open her eyes, still feeling the muddy water pressing against them, and what else she couldn't fathom. Instead she curled up as tight as her body would let her, protectively shielding herself as she felt gravity shift from side to side.

The next thing she knew, she was being spat out into the light once more, furry body tumbling through the twigs and mud as the water rushed around her. She desperately rubbed her eyes, her stubborn arms obeying her for the first time since she had awoke, clumsily washing the muck from her face, then opening her eyes to see the concerned looking face of the toad, and, she realised, her rescuer. She bent forwards and gagged, collapsing to her forepaws as finally her lungs gave up and she released that long held breath in a fit of coughs and splutters, each breath stinging, and bringing a new array of confusing sensations.

"You're okay," the toad said. She didn't know if it was meant to be reassuring, but as the aching of her bones returned with an almost reproachful vengeance (as if her body was somehow mortified she might ask so much of it whilst it had already been complaining so), she felt relieved. She slipped slowly on to her side, then back on to her back, as the long list of damages started to make themselves known once more, and the adrenaline which flooded her bloodstream started to fade.

"You fell. I saw," the toad said, somewhat uncertainly.

"If I fell that far," she croaked, feeling a sudden dryness to her throat. "I suspect I'm most certainly dead, or headed as such."

"Dead, or dying?" the toad mused, shifting backwards a bit. "Well, you better tell me what colour you prefer - white or red?"

"Colour?" she said weakly.

"Flowers, for your tombstone. Lillies, I find are always a bit dramatic, but with roses - well, I wouldn't want to give the wrong idea."

And suddenly she laughed. She laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. She laughed at trying to climb the Mistlebells. She laughed at the toad and his dead-pan expression. She laughed though her chest burned and her head swam.

"Don't make me laugh," she said, weakly, "It hurts."

"That'd be a fine way to go I'm sure," he said. "a heroic climb, a perilous plummet, then laughs herself to death on the beach."

"Yeah," she said with another wincing giggle. "Try writing a poem about that!"

And with that they both giggled, the toad with a roaring, halting chortle and the hare with a chitter. "I'm sure I could," he said, "But it still wouldn't put dinner on the table."

Her giggles died softly, and she sighed, eyes refocusing on those Mistlebells, that tall, impenetrable canopy, those bright, glowing fruits. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I failed."

The toad nodded, and said nothing for a few moments, before sighing. "It is more noble an act than any other, to risk your life to save another." his big black eyes blinked slowly.

As she lay, staring at the canopy, distant shapes started to form. She blinked, but still they remained - blobs of horrid blackness growing at the top of the Mistlebells, and, she soon realised, descending. "toad..." she said.

The toad followed her gaze.

"Spiders," she said.

"Spiders," he agreed.

They were crawling down the sides of the trunks. Dozens, scores - perhaps even hundreds of tiny legs skittering across the surface of the bark as they repelled their way down.

"Maybe they're coming to see if I'm okay," the hare said, doubtfully.

"Maybe they're here to finish the job," the toad said, ominously. "Perhaps they had forgotten about our little deal, and," he said, a grin forming on his face, "perhaps they think it's time to end our little agreement."

"toad?" the hare said.

"Run along now, my dear. This will be something you shouldn't see. Run, and don't stop running until you are safe."

She struggled up to her feet, her body not nearly done protesting, but she was heedless to it's complaints. "There are too many of them," she said uncertainly.

The toad licked his lips, "Y'know, I never fancied dying on an empty stomach," he said with an expression which, to the hare's mind, was as close to a toothy grin as a toad could possibly get.

The spiders were getting closer.

"What are you waiting for?" the toad said. "Run!" And with that he pushed her forwards, sending her out into the forest, and once moving the hare found it hard to stop. She was on the edge of hearing the skittering feet of a hundred tiny legs when she began, and soon it became a constant buzz as the canopy filled with the echoes of the spider's march. She yelped as she hopped on sore legs, darting through the trees as fast as she dared, but all the while imagining the swarm of spiders nipping at her toes. She pressed on, faster and faster, panting as she rounded trees and tumbled over dips and scrambled up the rise.

Then all of a sudden she froze. She recognised the clearing she found herself in. Dense trees on all sides, and the sound of humming from a familiar voice. She bent low and crept forwards, rounding a very solid looking tree, only to find it hollow, with a light shining within. There, inside, was the unmistakable figure of Blue. She felt like calling out to him, but curiosity struck her. Why had she not seen this before? How did it blend so cleverly into the other trees? What was Blue doing? She crept closer, just as Blue broke from his humming into words.

Put up the wall, put up the dam,

Feel the weight, feel it slam,

Against the walls of your own mind,

Make it tender; make it kind,

Run little circles round your head,

Not quite living, not quite dead-

He turned, and they locked eyes; the hare and the fox.

"I-" she began, but he cut her off almost immediately.

"Shh-shh-shh," he said, his ears pricking, then his eyes going wide. "Quickly, inside," he said, and shuffled out, reaching a paw behind her and guiding her to the entrance to the tree-trunk. She let herself be guided without saying another word, as the fox leaned up and whispered into the source of the light - a little jar suspended just above head height by a thin cord - and with a wink it dimmed almost to nothing. The fox strode out, continuing to hum to himself, as suddenly that clattering became far louder.

Just then, a spider about the same size as Blue stepped out from behind a tree, followed swiftly by two more. The fox took a step back, and interrupted his humming, Blue making an effort to seem surprised. "Oh, hello there. And what do I owe this honour?"

The spiders chittered uncertainly, before one spoke. "Hare. Came through this way. Seen her?"

"A hare?" Blue said, making a show of thinking. "Rare thing to find in these parts, I'm sure. A fox might easily starve, save for a little helping morsel, of course, back in the day it wasn't difficult for a fox to find a meal. Barely had to walk out my door and there were hares, rabbits - even mice - oh I haven't seen a proper mouse in forever,"

The hare started to feel a little queasy, and, realizing the fox was just stalling them, she began to look around as quietly as she could for anything that might help her. She looked up at the jar above her, and saw inside the tiny glow of fireflies.

"Hey there, little guys," she whispered.

The flies blinked back at her, their abdomens pulsing with light.

"Could you help a girl out. Just give me a little more?"

The fireflies looked uncertain, and turned to one another, holding a rapidly blinking low-light conversation, before turning back to the hare, and slowly starting to light up. She held out her paw to stop them as soon as she could see it clearly, and with a nod and a whispered thank you, she surveyed her surroundings.

Blue had been standing at a desk, made from the hollow of the tree she was hiding in. It was unmistakably a writing desk, with pots of ink in specially carved crevices on the wood. It was a masterfully crafted thing, but as she looked at it her eyes couldn't help wander to the walls of the room. Where in the dark it looked simply like wooden wall, in the brighter light she could see that every spare inch was covered in a form of paper, from doorway to desk, and from floor to as high as she could reach. Each scrap of paper was barely a hands-breadth wide or tall, but each had been carefully marked with writing. Her wonder overcoming her, she snatched one off the nearest wall.

I miss you.

She blinked, turning the paper over in her hands, but it was otherwise blank. She turned to another.

Today was hard without you.

She felt a pang of guilt, and something welling up in her throat, but she was compelled, and this time carefully read without taking from the wall.

You would have loved the light. I wanted to share this evening with you. It's cold here all alone.

I cannot find another.

Your mind was a firework.

I'm losing my sense of you.

Tomorrow is hard.

I love you.

She stared at the last one. This one she had taken it off the wall without thinking about it, and its words seemed to burn into her palm as she held it. I love you.

When the hare looked up, she saw the fox, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. He had stopped talking to the spiders some time ago, it seemed, and he was just watching her. She stepped back in surprise, almost toppling an ink pot before righting it at the last moment. The fox stared, impassive. He looked unconcerned.

"I'm sor-" she started.

"Y'know, I've thought about burning this tree down," he said. "It's a dwelling that leaks sorrow and sadness. Happy memories are filling up too much space. They're leaving no room for new ones at all."

She was silent, but he seemed to be expecting an answer.

"But you decided not to?"

"Was that a question?" the fox said, a sad smile on his face. "I'm not sure it's your turn," he said, reaching forwards, and taking the paper from her unresisting hands, turning it around in his fingers, and mouthing the words, as he read, to nowhere in particular; I love you.

"Though perhaps it is no longer the time for games." He sighed, then continued, "It's a fine idea to say goodbye to the few things you really care about in life. Sure it hurts now, but that's only because it felt so good then. If I burnt this tree down... Well, I may as well be burning myself. Every note in this trunk is burned in on here already," he said, pointing to his forehead. "No point denying it."

He turned and placed the note back on the inside of the tree's trunk, thumbing delicately over the slight bend in the paper before it stuck back to the wood. "You've been enjoying yourself," Blue said. "But that doesn't mean there hasn't been suffering, does it?"

He motioned the hare to follow and she did, feeling like a chastised child. She felt like she had seen something she wasn't meant to. She was an intruder in the friendly fox's life, and all of a sudden the game was over.

"The spiders will hunt you down. They'll kill you if they can," the fox said, conversationally. "In a way they've always been looking for you."

"Me?" she said.

"You, dear hare, need to seek your strength."

"I don't understand. Why would they be looking for me?"

"Why?" the fox said, turning and grinning malevolently. "Why not? What makes you so special to be safe? Do you think you've built a nice little shelter all the way out here, under the Mistlebells?"

She was silent.

"No," the fox said, "That's just me, I suppose," he said, his eyes flicking back to the tree for just a moment, before he spun around and continued on, finding the edge of the clearing.

"Do you... Do you think toad will be okay?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Never... Nevermind," she said.

The lights above seemed to dim as she looked out beyond the circle of trees. Where most of the forest was trunks and leaves underfoot, the fox was leading her to dense collections of low bushes and brambles. She stuck closer to Blue as he stepped onwards, before he stopped. She looked up at him, and saw his face was frozen in a grimace.

"It's okay," she said, moving around him to his front. "I can make it alone from here."

The fox mouthed some words she couldn't make out, before seeming to return to the present, his ears flat and glancing back to the clearing. "It's not that I'm scared," he said.

"I know," the hare said. "Don't worry. Wherever it is I'm going, I'm sure to find it eventually."

"Take the darkest path," Blue said, as he took a step back towards the light. "Remember that courage is not the absence of fear, but strength in the face of it. It is the solitary beacon. It is the light in the tunnel. It is... It is the gentle words at the end of the longest day, that quietly tell the world that you will try again tomorrow."

She felt a tear in her eye, but brushed it away. She nodded, and putting her foot forward, delved haphazardly into the undergrowth.

Blue stepped back to the tree and looked up at the Mistlebells. To him, they were always blue. Standing there so long, guarding her memory, he felt there was no where else he could go.

The hare ran through the dark. The Mistlebells were far behind, and in their place the darkness reigned. It hung over the forest like a cloak, concealing the rocks to stumble upon, and the branches to trip her up. Still she ran. Her heart beat like a drum, and though she feared the growing dark she welcomed it in equal measure, hiding her for her pursuers. The spiders would get her if they could, she knew, but here, she imagined, she might find safety.

Darker and darker it grew, until all light had faded from the forest. She caught her breath as she could go no further by sight alone, instead, crawling quietly in the brush. Blue's words gave her hope and courage, but more than anything else she was full of doubt. Why had Blue sent her away? What if this was punishment for her actions? Would she be able to find light again? She glanced over her shoulder at the darkness. Black was all she saw. Was it already too late?

She steeled herself against her fear, but it was a squeak in the dark compared to the growing feelings of worry and doubt. Perhaps if she had been more cautious she would never have become lost. Perhaps if she didn't rush so foolishly into every clearing she would still be safe. Perhaps if she hadn't encountered the toad he'd still be-

She stopped herself from thinking about the toad. She focused on moving forward.

Time passed agonisingly slowly as she pressed on, no sign of any light to act as a guide, or a point of reference. She turned each time she found a big, thick tree-trunk in the dark, and before long she was convinced she was travelling in circles. The canopy above blocked any light from the sky, and the dense undergrowth kept her guessing at the direction she was travelling.

She was about to give up and descend into absolute panic when all of a sudden she heard a voice.

"Comes into dark to seek the light, she."

"H-hello?" she asked the darkness.

"Not too long, not far gone, not as gone as far go, she," it said in return.

"C-can you help? I think I'm lost."

"Not as lost as lost will be, she," it said, in return, "Without the help of I, me."

Suddenly a light bloomed in the darkness, right in front of the hare, making her blink and cover her eyes as she was suddenly blinded.

"Easy, bunny, the lightsies don't burn, she."

She peeked from behind her fingers and spotted in front of her, perhaps a few inches tall at most, the short, stocky figure of a mouse. He was holding a match with both hands, which was burning rapidly.

"See she, me." he said, pointing with his long rodent tail at himself. "I see she?" he asked.

"I'm... Just a traveller," she said.

"See me," he said, raising himself up a little, "Reginald Montgomory Tilberson, the third, me" he said. "Or Redge me, me."

"It's... really good to meet you, Redge," she said with a smile.

The match burned down to it's tip, and the mouse threw it on the ground, where it smouldered into nothing. "Lightsies burn here, see she, but greater lightsies stay for longer, see." he said in the dark. "Follows, she?"

"She does," the hare said, gratefully accepting the invitation.

"I talk, she," the mouse said. "Follows she," he said, his voice moving in the darkness.

The hare turned to follow. "What does a mouse talk about?"

"How about she?" the mouse said, as they worked their way forwards.

"She- I don't really have much to say."

"Won't follow far, she," the mouse returned with a jibe.

"Alright! Fine. My story..." she began, and continued to tell her tale, from the moment she woke in the forest to the moment she found herself with the mouse. She was honest and true, only pausing to check she was still following the mouse, but always he would be right before her, encouraging her to continue. As she finished, she stopped in the dark, wondering at the comfort and warmth she felt, just from telling her story in the darkness.

"It's funny, Redge. I feel so calm and peaceful now."

"She?"

"It was so scary when I first arrived here. I can't see a thing, but my mind is full of the light of my memories."

"Dangerous to live in dreams, she" the mouse said.

"No more dangerous than living them."

"Far more," the mouse said, pausing for a long moment before speaking again. "Came she to forest after spiders look to eat she. Needs much courage she, many tool to slay, she."

"I'm not a fighter," she said, laughing at the idea.

"Everyone a fighter, she" the mouse said, diplomatically. "Even if she only fight she."

The hare puzzled over the words, but was soon distracted as the familiar glow of light found her eyes, and a few moments later they emerged into a rudimentary campsite, hidden in the dark.

"Reginald's home, me" said the mouse, motioning to a tiny grass sleeping bag, a twig he sat on and the fire, which had looked much bigger when first she saw it, but was actually barely larger than the flame of the match the mouse had lit earlier.

"It's... Very nice," the hare said, doubtfully.

The mouse looked a little puzzled, then shrugged. "There also home, me," he said, pointing out into the gloom again. "But here it is..." he gestured with his arms, searching for a word. "Temple? No, palace? No... Arena, she."

"Arena? Like for battles?" she said, a little bemused.

"Big battles, she. Biggest battles there can be, she." the mouse said, darting to the other edge of the fire.

Against the far side of the camp was a large tree-trunk that had been smoothed over time, and as the mouse stepped around the flame his shadow leapt high against the trunk. He stretched his fingers, and, folding them together, played with a shadow on the wall.

"Fight like darkness, she," he said, and his shadowy fingers formed a cloak over his hand, which hunched over like a figure crouching against the wood. "Fight like spider, she," he said, curling his fingers upwards like a spider's legs, curling up as it descended - the hare almost seeing the strand of silk by which it hung. "Fight like... Wolf," the mouse said, and with that he turned his hands so that almost all the wood was covered in shadow - a great hulking shape forming against the wood and the fire, with flowing coat of black and pointed snout, which jutted up and down, as if tracking a scent.

"Wow, you're really amazing at this," the hare said, marvelling at the way the shadow's coat seemed to flow as it moved, then quickly turned, and faced the fire, it's shadowy muzzle reaching down to the ground and quite clearly sniffing at the embers, it's tail hung low behind. It turned around again, before silently howling into the night, its mane billowing behind it like storm-clouds.

The hare was about to applaud, when out of the corner of her eye she saw the mouse, standing stock still, watching the shadow move, seemingly entranced. "Redge?" she asked, and the shadow turned towards the sound of her voice, the mouse not moving an inch. Her stomach filled with dread, and she was suddenly aware of how quiet the campsite was. She reached out and prodded the mouse, but he didn't so much as flick his tail, transfixed to the wooden screen that was their shadow play. She looked back, and this time when she looked that wolf seemed to tower over her, and was staring at her.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said, her mind marvelling at how sharp those teeth seemed; how fixed those eyes appeared to be; how intent they were on her - even in shadow form. She reached out, and it was like feeling the fur of the wolf on her fingertips. Sleek, oily and damp from a night of tracking through the rain. She blinked and the feeling increased tenfold. The hair on the back of her neck went rigid, and some ancient instinct told her to run, but she didn't. She stood, staring at the wolf, as it stared back.

Slowly, cautiously, she closed her eyes, and all at once, she gave herself to the darkness of her mind.