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course," said Trix. He unsheathed his lingworm-blessed dagger, golden as the apple in his hand. Putting it to the test, he set the blade to the cold metal surface. The flesh of the fruit parted easily for the dagger. Oh, happy day! The bright smell of deliciously ripe apple filled the air. Trix’s stomach did somersaults in appreciation.
    Papa was far better at slicing apples in midair than he. Trix had been a little more successful cutting off the head of the lingworm. The two pieces he now held were woefully unequal.
    Trix's stomach took the opportunity to weigh in on the decision before him. Take the larger half , his stomach growled. You're starving .
    Take the larger half , his feet winced. You're tired .
    Take the larger half , said his head. You deserve it. You've come such a long way, and you still have so far to go .
    And then suddenly, unexpectedly, the voice in his mind was that of Saturday. "GIVE HER THE LARGER HALF!" cried his warrior sister. Her words were hollow and felt far away, as far away as a towerhouse on a magical ocean, but they rang across the distance clear as a bell.
    Oh, Saturday. How I miss you .
    Trix smiled. All the voices were right. But this golden girl had promised him all the apples he wanted. Just because this particular apple was gold didn't make him want it any more than the plain old red and green ones still hanging happy and fresh on the tree behind him. Trix held his hands out to the girl, offering her both halves of the golden apple.
    "For you, milady," he said. "The humble apples on yonder tree are more than enough for a poor Woodcutter like me."
    There was a singing in the air that sounded like a swarm of bees, a riot of cicadas, and a sword being unsheathed all at once. The girl grinned at him with a smile as bright as the sun, and then flung herself into his arms. He had expected her movements to be stiff as a moving statue’s and not quite so effervescently fluid, but there she was in the blink of an eye. Her enthusiasm reminded him of Friday, unabashedly throwing love around for all to share. He braced himself as he would have for one of Friday’s hugs, which was good, because this girl did seem to weigh as much as someone who’d been dipped in gold.
    "Thank you!" she cried. "Thank you for releasing me from my spell!”
    She smelled of honeysuckle and smoke, delicious scents than made Trix’s stomach churn in frustration. The girl must have heard it for she released him soon after, walking over to the tree and picking a shiny red and green apple for him.
    “For those vociferous hollows,” she told him. Her voice was stronger now, though her skin and eyes and skirts and hair were no less golden.
    "That and twenty more like it, with great thanks.” Trix greedily took the apple from her and bit into its tart flesh.
    "All you need is one," she said. "You'll see."
    She spoke truly. By the time Trix finished the apple, he felt as fat as a pig before Midwinter Feast. "Thank you, milady," he said as he wiped the juice from his chin.
    “Please call me Lizinia," she told him. “You also wanted to rest in the shade of my tree. Join me here and I will tell you my story." She spread her golden skirts and sat gracefully on the ground beside the apple tree. Trix didn’t have Friday’s eye for material, but he’d never before seen metal move like silk, no matter how finely hammered.
    Oh, Friday. How I miss you.
    Shade and stories...Trix sighed. This was almost like being at home, except that his family’s clothing wasn't half so fine. "Should I fetch you a blanket?" he asked. "Aren’t you worried you'll muss your splendid dress?”
    She laughed again and her golden fingers flew to her golden cheeks, as if the act of laughing itself was foreign to her. "My clothes can never wear or tear or stain," she told him. "Nor can anyone else remove them but me. That is part of my story."
    Satisfied, Trix settled back against the trunk of the tree. He gazed up into its thick leaves, bright and