boils to people who get on my nerves.” I glared at her.
Goldie screwed up her face. “That doesn’t sound as nice as a love potion, but I’ll help you catch it.”
“No thank you,” I said, and started walking as quickly as possible. I wound in and out of the trees to try to get rid of Goldie, but all that seemed to accomplish was to confuse my path as it tried to anticipate my movements. Goldie skipped right alongside me. When she got too close to my path, she got a small shock that made her jump and stumble sideways. She batted at the air.
“I think there are still bees following me. Where are we going again?”
“
I
need to catch a tree nymph,” I said, hoping she would get the hint that
we
weren’t going anywhere. No such luck.
“Right,” Goldie said in a determined voice. “Nymphs for boils. Oh, look! There’s one!” Goldie pointed right behind me.
“That’s only a leaf,” I said.
“No! It’s right by your head!”
I kept still. I felt wings brushing ever so gently against my cheek, and then the nymph crawled into my hair right by my ear. It made strange little sounds, a series of clicks and soft whistling, like wind through a crack in the door. It was saying something. I strained to understand.
“Don’t move,” said Goldie. “I got it. I’m very good at catching grasshoppers.” She crouched, ready to pounce like a cat.
“No. Don’t—”
Goldie sprang toward me. My path exuded a blast of air so strong that Goldie’s frilly cap blew clean off her head and she tumbled to her rear. But the blast scared off the nymph, too.
Goldie shook herself. “Great gourds, what a wind! That came out of nowhere. Didn’t you feel it?”
I clenched my teeth and my fists. It was taking every ounce of my control not to punch Goldie in the nose. I’d punched people for lesser offenses. I spun around and started walking fast, but Goldie ran to keep up with me and chattered away.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure we can catch another. We just have to keep trying. Mummy always says you should never give up. Unless, of course, you’re doing something
wrong,
in which case you should give up entirely, and it has occurred to me that trying to make a potion to give people boils could be wrong, don’t you think?”
“I’m not trying to poison people!” I blurted. “I needed those nymph wings to make a medicine for my granny, who is ill.” I trembled with rage, but Goldie mistook it for sadness.
“Oh, Red.” She reached out and took hold of my hands. “I am
so
sorry. My granny died when I was little, and I cried and cried.”
I tore my hands out of her grasp and folded my arms. The last thing I wanted was for Goldie to think she understood me. “She’s not dying,” I said. “And I never cry.”
“Don’t worry,” said Goldie. “My mummy always knows what to do in these situations. Maybe your mummy would know what to do?”
As much as I didn’t want to take any help or advice from Goldie, she had a point. Mama and Papa would know what to do. If I could find a gnome to take them a message, then they’d come home. They could be back by nightfall.
I ran through the trees so fast my path could barely keep up with me, and I spooked the birds and other creatures, who scattered before me, twittering warnings.
“Message!” I called. “Message!” I shouted as loud as I could into bushes and burrows. These were the most likely places to find gnomes, but like pixies, they had mostly fled The Mountain. They preferred to live near crowds, where they could deliver lots of messages. But there had to be at least one!
“I NEED TO SEND A MESSAGE NOW, YOU STUPID GNOMES!” I stomped my foot and punched a tree, which accomplished nothing, but hurt my hand.
“Are you trying to catch a gnome now? I can help.”
“I don’t need help,” I said.
“I’m really good at finding gnomes,” she said.
“Good for you. Message!” I called again.
“Message!” Goldie echoed. “I think we’d do
Goldie screwed up her face. “That doesn’t sound as nice as a love potion, but I’ll help you catch it.”
“No thank you,” I said, and started walking as quickly as possible. I wound in and out of the trees to try to get rid of Goldie, but all that seemed to accomplish was to confuse my path as it tried to anticipate my movements. Goldie skipped right alongside me. When she got too close to my path, she got a small shock that made her jump and stumble sideways. She batted at the air.
“I think there are still bees following me. Where are we going again?”
“
I
need to catch a tree nymph,” I said, hoping she would get the hint that
we
weren’t going anywhere. No such luck.
“Right,” Goldie said in a determined voice. “Nymphs for boils. Oh, look! There’s one!” Goldie pointed right behind me.
“That’s only a leaf,” I said.
“No! It’s right by your head!”
I kept still. I felt wings brushing ever so gently against my cheek, and then the nymph crawled into my hair right by my ear. It made strange little sounds, a series of clicks and soft whistling, like wind through a crack in the door. It was saying something. I strained to understand.
“Don’t move,” said Goldie. “I got it. I’m very good at catching grasshoppers.” She crouched, ready to pounce like a cat.
“No. Don’t—”
Goldie sprang toward me. My path exuded a blast of air so strong that Goldie’s frilly cap blew clean off her head and she tumbled to her rear. But the blast scared off the nymph, too.
Goldie shook herself. “Great gourds, what a wind! That came out of nowhere. Didn’t you feel it?”
I clenched my teeth and my fists. It was taking every ounce of my control not to punch Goldie in the nose. I’d punched people for lesser offenses. I spun around and started walking fast, but Goldie ran to keep up with me and chattered away.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure we can catch another. We just have to keep trying. Mummy always says you should never give up. Unless, of course, you’re doing something
wrong,
in which case you should give up entirely, and it has occurred to me that trying to make a potion to give people boils could be wrong, don’t you think?”
“I’m not trying to poison people!” I blurted. “I needed those nymph wings to make a medicine for my granny, who is ill.” I trembled with rage, but Goldie mistook it for sadness.
“Oh, Red.” She reached out and took hold of my hands. “I am
so
sorry. My granny died when I was little, and I cried and cried.”
I tore my hands out of her grasp and folded my arms. The last thing I wanted was for Goldie to think she understood me. “She’s not dying,” I said. “And I never cry.”
“Don’t worry,” said Goldie. “My mummy always knows what to do in these situations. Maybe your mummy would know what to do?”
As much as I didn’t want to take any help or advice from Goldie, she had a point. Mama and Papa would know what to do. If I could find a gnome to take them a message, then they’d come home. They could be back by nightfall.
I ran through the trees so fast my path could barely keep up with me, and I spooked the birds and other creatures, who scattered before me, twittering warnings.
“Message!” I called. “Message!” I shouted as loud as I could into bushes and burrows. These were the most likely places to find gnomes, but like pixies, they had mostly fled The Mountain. They preferred to live near crowds, where they could deliver lots of messages. But there had to be at least one!
“I NEED TO SEND A MESSAGE NOW, YOU STUPID GNOMES!” I stomped my foot and punched a tree, which accomplished nothing, but hurt my hand.
“Are you trying to catch a gnome now? I can help.”
“I don’t need help,” I said.
“I’m really good at finding gnomes,” she said.
“Good for you. Message!” I called again.
“Message!” Goldie echoed. “I think we’d do
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