Kestrel stamped on the thought as hard as she could, and wrapped her arms around herself.
Seconds later Kestrel’s foot plunged into a stream. She yelped and tried to step back. Something snatched at her ankle, and she slipped and landed with her chin in the water. Bits of gravel tumbled past her, catching her on the cheek and making her face sting as she floundered. Cold water sloshed through her clothes, and chunks of ice swirled around her.
“Brrr,” Pippit warbled miserably as Kestrel finally scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding.
She stumbled to the other side of the stream, then hesitated and looked back at the water. She was sure something had caught her ankle on purpose. For a moment she couldn’t see anything except frothy scum and swirling clumps of snow. Then the face of the Briny Witch floated into view, spinning on the surface of the water so fast she felt dizzy.
“What do you want?” Kestrel snapped, embarrassed by how relieved she was that it wasn’t her grabber.
“I just wanted to say hello,” the Briny Witch gurgled, sounding very far away. “Have you reconsidered my offer? You know your time’s running out now.”
“No,” Kestrel said, stepping away. But even as she spoke she was imagining the help he could give in return for her eyes, and before she knew it the words were out of her mouth. “Can you tell me how to get rid of my grabber?”
“You can’t,” he said, grinning nastily.
“Fine,” Kestrel snapped. “Can you at least tell me where my grandma’s grabber is?”
The Briny Witch laughed, as though she’d just said something very funny, his face still swirling in the eddies of the water.
“All right,” she said sourly. “Then I don’t need you.” She splashed her hand in the water, scattering the image of his smirking face.
Kestrel turned back and tried to retrace her steps, but her footprints were filling in with snow. She started to hurry, tripping over tree roots in her haste. She was close to screaming with frustration when she heard a high-pitched whistle above her. The sound made her heart leap into her throat, and she fumbled to reach her spoon, but Pippit dug his claws into her shoulder and chattered excitedly.
“Snacks!” he shouted, which could only mean one person.
Kestrel’s heart leaped. There was a fraying rope wound tightly around a nearby tree. She scrambled up, her fingers numb with cold. She found Finn sitting in a cocoon made of blankets with a lantern wedged between his knees.
Finn’s face cracked into a grin when he saw her, and despite the guilt and the deep terror lurking inside her, she felt herself do the same.
“I thought I heard you stamping around,” he said as she sat down with him, knee to knee. “Why do you look so pale?”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Kestrel said, the words falling out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “I’ve seen my—”
She was about to tell him about the grabber, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind she knew that it was a terrible idea. She could see his face now. He’d run away from her. He’d be too scared to talk to her. He didn’t even like it when she mentioned her grandma’s grabber.
“My dad,” she said, feeling wretched.
“Gruh!” Pippit said loudly, but Kestrel clamped her hand over his mouth and pushed him into her hood.
“Did Hannah go back?” Kestrel added, eyeing the trees. Hannah was the last person she wanted to deal with right now.
“Oh, yeah. She said trees were cold and dirty.” He shrugged.
“Maybe she’s scared of snow,” Kestrel said, feeling a tiny bit pleased. Hannah seemed like the kind of person to hide under the bed when the snow came, just because it brought monsters like ice ghasts and poisonous white spiders.
“Not like us,” said Finn
“Obviously,” Kestrel agreed. She touched her pocket, only to be reminded her grandma’s notebook wasn’t there. Her fingers curled up with panic. It came on suddenly, with the same physical pain as a stomach cramp. She couldn’t afford to take her mind off her grabber for a single moment; it could strike whenever she wasn’t looking, stealing her things to make its body.
“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Finn said. Something about him didn’t look right, but Kestrel felt too distracted to work out what.
“I’m okay,” Kestrel said, pushing a piece of hair away from her damp forehead. “I’m glad I found you. We need to keep exploring.”
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” said Finn, yawning.
“We can’t wait!” Kestrel said insistently, making Finn jump. “The Gulping Pond’s next on the list,” she continued, swallowing the lump in her throat. She wondered if she sounded as panicked as she felt. “It sounds interesting. We could go now.”
She could feel her heart hammering again.
“Are you crazy?” Finn said. “We’ll get buried in snow. We’ll be eaten by ghosts. We’ll drown in a bog. It’s dark.”
“We haven’t been trying hard enough to find a way out,” she said. “We’ll never escape if we don’t push ourselves.”
“We are trying,” said Finn, taking a shriveled plum out of his pocket. Pippit’s head swiveled toward it. “We go exploring nearly every day, don’t we?”
“But . . .” Kestrel said.
Finn stretched the blanket over his head and proffered it to her. She took it gingerly but didn’t wrap it around her. She didn’t like not being able to see the forest.
“We can look at your notebook now if you want,” Finn said peaceably. “We can plan our route to the Gulping Pond.”
“I . . . left my notebook in the burrow,” she said lamely.
Finn looked bewildered.
“But I remember nearly everything in it,” Kestrel added quickly.
“Let’s just skip the exploring for a bit,” said Finn. “We could build snow-wolves instead. Or hunt for more weird junk in the forest.”
“C’mon, Finn,” she said. “This isn’t a game.”
“What’s the point if we’re not having fun?”
“To get out!” Kestrel said frantically.
“Well, yeah,” he said, and shoved the plum into his mouth. Kestrel felt her face crumple, and Finn blinked. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
Yes! she screamed in her head.
“No,” she said, thinking the word would crack under the weight of her lie. Finn looked relieved.
“Okay,” he said. “Want a plum?”
Pippit dove into his pocket headfirst. As Finn wrestled with him, trying to pull him out of his pocket before all the fruit was devoured, Kestrel looked out at the snow. Stupid, horrible tears were pricking at her eyelids again. She never used to cry at all. Granmos would be horrified. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and gritted her teeth.
“I just want to get out of here,” she said. “I’ve never wanted it more.”
“So do I,” said Finn. He’d given up trying to save his fruit. “I know we’ll find it one day.”
Pippit spat a plum stone out, and it ricocheted off the tree. Finn ducked his head to avoid it, and Kestrel saw him in a streak of moonlight.
She realized why Finn looked strange. He was wearing a new sweater. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything that didn’t have holes, although the sleeves drooped over his hands, and it was so long he’d pulled it over his feet. Kestrel recognized it at once. It had belonged to the woodchopper.
Without warning Finn reached out and pulled her into a hug. Kestrel stiffened in surprise, then relaxed into his bony arms. It was like being hugged by a pile of twigs. She could smell wood chips and sausages. She wiped her running nose on his shoulder.