Nell Nettlewing stood on the soft edge of Mosslight Fen with her blue ribbon flicking at her leg and the mud cool under her feet. Ahead of her, a thing had appeared overnight where there had been only water before: a tiny island, no bigger than a dinner table, sitting alone in the black wetness. On it leaned a crooked sign, and beside the sign stood a door built into nothing at all.
Nell had promised Brindle and Mallow she would help them look at it before dusk hid the safe paths home. That mattered, because dusk in the fen came quickly, and the glowing mushrooms that marked the way back would not stay bright forever.
Brindle stood a little behind her, tall and still, his rush satchel hanging against pale gray feathers. He peered at the island with the careful look he saved for strange things. Mallow, half in the water and half in a reed channel, kept lifting his curious face toward the door as if he could hear it calling.
The trouble was getting there. The water between them and the island was deep and black in the middle, with spongy moss that might hold a step—or sink away. Reed channels twisted through it like secret paths that changed their minds. Nell looked from Brindle to Mallow and back to the island. She could almost hear the little click of the door waiting.
She had kept her promise by coming. Now she had to choose how to get all three of them to the edge without losing anyone in the fen.
What happens next?
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