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Celestyna,whispered the Old Wild, from deep in that soft, secret place buried inside Cub’s heart. He had opened it up to tell Ford and Fern his story, and now it whispered inside him,Her name is Celestyna.

And Cub saw the queen’s ravaged black hand.

She cradled it against her chest and ran, and with every step she took, the pain living in her hand blossomed sharper and hotter.

Cub, far below, struggling to pick himself up, felt it too.

The queen’s pain bled down the chain of the else-hand, into the long dark reach of the Break, and pulsed through Cub’s trembling body.

He touched one giant paw to the burned, sore flesh of his neck—the band of ruined skin where the else-hand lived.

Slowly, carefully, he wondered:

Was he not the only person the else-hand was hurting?

Was the up-above queen hurting too?

A bright flash interrupted Cub’s thoughts. He looked up and saw the two girls, falling. One tiny and dim, the other a softly blooming white light, like the moons coming out from their clouds.

A sharpsmack!sounded—the slap of bone against bone against rock.

The light abruptly went out.

Cub lumbered over to where the girls had fallen, and when he saw them, he threw up his huge shaggy head and howled.

“Father!” Cub bellowed. “Mother! Hurry!”

But Ford and Fern were so careful, with their ropes and their sharp metal picks, that they weren’t going nearly fast enough.

Cub grumbled deep in his throat and found new strength and reached them in two great strides, scooped them into oneenormous paw, and deposited them gently onto the ground beside his feet.

“Too important,” rumbled Cub, shaking his head mournfully from side to side. “Had to touch. Sorry, Ford and Fern. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

But Fern and Ford weren’t listening. Ford cried out a name:“Brier!”And Fern made a horrible sound, so sad Cub wished he could cover his ears forever, but he couldn’t, because what if they needed him to covertheirears?

They hurried to Brier, who lay very still. The stone beneath her was dark and wet, and beside her was the pale girl, the spinning star.The witch,Cub thought, only she didn’t look wicked or mean at all. The else of her, the magic, was sweet and good. She trembled, her hair like clouds. Light poured from her hands into Brier, and the girl grew paler and paler, then dimmer and dimmer, until her skin looked as gray as Cub’s belly.

Ford touched Brier’s arms, her legs, her clenched jaw and closed eyelids. “What’s happening?” He looked at Fern, at the pale girl, then up at Cub. “Is she...?”

Cub suddenly felt cold, and wished he were small enough to hide between Fern’s legs. “Gone like mothers?” he moaned.

“I wasn’t quite fast enough,” the pale girl whispered.“Couldn’t slow her down all the way.”

She looked up at Cub with eyes smooth and white like stones from the sea.

“But she’ll be all right now,” the girl said, sighing. Her eyes fluttered closed. She collapsed at Brier’s side, soft and silent. A fallen feather.

And then Cub watched, holding his breath, as Brier opened her eyes.

“Papa?” she said. Her voice was rough, like Cub’s cracked paws.

Fern and Ford hugged her close, saying her name again and again, crying and touching her hair and kissing her cheeks.

Cub wanted to tell them to be careful. If they were kittens, then little Brier was only a baby bird!

But instead he carefully lay down beside the girl with tired gray skin and brittle white hair. She was not breathing. She was not even as big as his littlest toe. Cub touched her gently with his snout, and when she still did not move, he rested his head on the stone next to her.

Maybe if he held very still.