Anya slowed down and shifted her staff to her other shoulder.
“Can you smell anything, Ardent?” she asked anxiously. “Ahead or behind?”
Ardent lifted his snout and circled his head, sniffing the breeze.
“Nothing unusual,” he said. Then he stiffened for a moment, frozen in place save for his nose, which quivered mightily. His head went down and forward, and he stepped one paw ahead, his tail quivering straight up.
“What is it?” whispered Anya.
“Rabbit!” barked Ardent, and he was off, a tan streak against the green of the undergrowth.
“Ardent!” Anya called hoarsely, trying to make it a whispered shout. Which isn’t really possible, but people do try.
“He won’t catch it,” said Shrub. “Big warren around here, those rabbits have got tunnel entrances all over the place. They go out on the downs during the day. Come back into the forest at night.”
Shrub was correct. A bedraggled Ardent slid out from under a sprawling but stunted hawthorn a few minutes later and plopped himself down gasping at Anya’s feet.
“We’re on a Quest, Ardent,” Anya chastised severely. “Probably pursued by weaselfolk. This is no time for chasing rabbits.”
Ardent’s ears lowered and his tail drooped.
“Sorry, Princess,” he said. “I’ll try to remember.”
He looked so woebegone that Anya forgave him. She knew that rabbits were very, very hard for a dog to resist chasing. When Ardent was older, and had more practice, he should be able to watch a fleeing rabbit with equanimity, merely lifting an ear or making a small harrumphing noise. But not now. Bending down, she scratched his head and rubbed his ears.
“You did a good job leading me in the dark, thank you,” she said. “Now, we need to go get our first ingredient from Shrub’s dad. And maybe have breakfast. We can eat the ham.”
Even as she said that, Anya felt a twinge in her shoulder, the kind of twinge that says it is not as bad a twinge as it could be, because the burden that shoulder is supporting is lighter than it should be.
Anya looked back urgently.
The ham was gone. For a terrible second Anya thought the frog basket was as well, before her silk-scarf bundle swung a little to the right to show Denholm’s prison securely behind it, farther up the staff. The frog looked at her and emitted a mournful croak. It was no life being locked up in a wicker cage and only occasionally sprinkled with water and fed moths or bugs (which were rarely the best things a frog might choose for himself).
“I must have left the ham back in the robbers’ arena,” said Anya sadly. She felt a sudden pang of hunger as her stomach caught up with the news.
“I should have c-c-caught the rabbit,” said Ardent, equally sad.
“Plenty of bugs about,” said Shrub, crunching up something, its wings falling out one side of his mouth as he swallowed.
“We’ll just have to find food later,” said Anya firmly. “Take us to your father, Shrub.”
Shrub nodded and set off again. He hadn’t gone very far before the forest began to thin out, the trees farther apart, the undergrowth more sparse. The morning sun went from sliding between small gaps in the canopy to flooding in, making everything brighter and warmer. Soon there began to be open spaces where wildflowers grew, and the trees were widely separated. Through one such gap, Anya saw they really were at the edge of the forest. Beyond lay long, low rolling hills of yellow-green grass, with only the occasional copse of trees clinging on here and there.
These were the downs, a landscape Anya had never seen before. Even the forest was somewhat familiar, but this was not. She felt both a thrill of excitement and a shiver of fear at the sight. The downs promised excitement and possibility but also danger. She hadn’t forgotten the almost overwhelming terror of the weaselfolk attack in the night.
“There’s my old pop!” Shrub lifted a claw and pointed to a particularly resplendent chestnut tree that overtopped several lesser companions nearby. Following his own direction, he ambled over to it and tapped several times upon the trunk.
“Pa! Pa! You got visitors!” shouted the newt.
The upper branches of the chestnut shivered in sudden movement, and not from any breeze.
“A princess!” bawled Shrub. “And a royal dog and a frog prince.”
The branches moved again, making a whispering noise that Anya almost thought could be words.
“Come and put your hand … or paw … against the trunk,” said Shrub. “Makes it easier to hear.”
Anya and Ardent drew close to the tree and reached out to touch the grooved gray bark.
“Elisandria at home?” shouted Shrub. “No? Popped out for a bath at the spring?”
Anya almost thought she heard the ex-druid’s reply to his son, the whisper of the branches louder, but still on the edge of her perception.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Princess Anya of Trallonia, and I need your help.”
“Have to talk louder than that!” shouted Shrub. “He’s a deaf old tree!”
“I am not, you rude boy!”
Anya heard that clearly, though it was still a strange whisper in the air, without any obvious source. She made a warning gesture to Shrub, not wanting him to annoy his father before she even asked for four drops of sap.
“I beg your pardon for intruding upon your peaceful … um … treeness,” said the princess. She did lift her voice a little, but didn’t shout. “I am on a Quest, seeking the ingredients for a magical lip balm that will let me transform this frog prince and your son, Shrub, back to their human forms. One of these ingredients is four drops of blood from a retired druid.”
“Hmm,” said the tree.
It was not a promising “hmm,” the kind you hear before someone agrees with you or gives you a present. It sounded more like the kind of very doubtful “hmm” you get before being shown the door, which the doorkeeper regretted opening in the first place.
“Prince Denholm was transformed by the evil sorcerer Duke Rikard,” said Anya hastily. “Just as Shrub was transformed by the evil Grey Mist. So you would be helping strike back against these evil sorcerers.”