“The half-breed girl!” said the antelope. “How glad I am to see you!”
Prue waved Curtis from his p
lace in the stand of ferns. “What are you doing in Wildwood?” she asked.
“I thought I’d never find you!” continued the antelope. “In all of Wildwood, and I was prepared to search high and low.”
“You came for us?” asked Curtis, standing and wiping snow from his pants.
“Yes,” said the antelope. The astonishment drifted from his face and was replaced by a despondent frown. “My name’s Timon. The Elder Mystic, she sent me to find you. To warn you.”
Prue froze, a quiet realization coming over her. The Mystic needn’t have even spoken; she understood what he had come to say. It was what she had expected, what she had intuited from the trees.
“Iphigenia,” said Prue.
The antelope nodded ruefully. His knees buckled, and he sat down on the ground. He began shaking his head. “Oh my, oh my,” he chanted.
“Is she okay?”
“Oh, Prue,” said the Mystic, lost in his own sorrow. “Oh, dear Prue.”
She shared a glance with Curtis before approaching the antelope. She knelt down by his side and began petting the brushlike fur of his neck. “Calm down,” she said, attempting to sound consoling. She tried to channel her parents, the way they warmly rubbed her back as she lamented some lost pet or forgotten toy. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s all right.”
The antelope brought his hoof to his eye and wiped a tear from his cheek. “I just don’t know what to say; I hadn’t allowed myself to even think until now. I was so intent on finding you, on doing the Elder Mystic’s bidding. And it all seemed so hopeless, but at least I had something to keep my mind off that terrible, terrible scene.”
“What scene?” asked Prue. Curtis had arrived at their side. He gave Prue a long, searching look. “Iphigenia—is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” said the Mystic. “I left her while she was still being pursued. She bid me find you. That’s the last thing she said to me. ‘Find the half-breed children. Warn them.’ But I hadn’t traveled far before I felt a grave foreboding from the trees. I fear she may be gone.” He collapsed into swelling sobs.
Curtis stubbed his boot angrily in the ground. “It was that fox, huh? That woman-turned-fox.”
Timon, gaining control again, nodded. “She’s a formidable foe,” he said. “We knocked out her partners, but she herself was too strong and fleet of foot.”
“How many were there?” asked Prue.
“Three: Two men, one woman.”
“Darla,” said Prue. “Darla Thennis.”
“You’ve met?” asked Timon.
“Yeah, she was my science teacher.”
Timon looked at her, perplexed.
“But she survived?” asked Curtis.
“Yes,” said Timon. “And there may be more. Kitsunes never engage in packs larger than three. Their training revolves around the concept of the strategic triangle. So while she might be deprived of her two partners, no doubt she has more somewhere.”
“Well, that settles it,” Curtis said, sounding almost relieved to hear this foreboding news. “Guess we should head back to the camp.”
Prue ignored him. Instead, she spoke to the antelope. “How are you, strength-wise? Can you make it back to North Wood safely?”
The Mystic huffed a little breath of steam from his nostrils and pushed himself onto his hooves. “Yes, fine,” he said. “Plenty strong.”
“Do you think you could carry two kids on your back?”
“Wait a second, Prue,” interrupted Curtis. “Did you hear a thing he just said? The Kitsunes are in North Wood. They’re looking for us. You just want to go announce yourself to them?”