‘Heckle thinks sharing thoughts is always a good way to begin a friendship.’
‘Yes, well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ Fox murmured.
She walked further into the cave, glad of both the sloth and the parrot’s company. The glow-worm light fell on the three of them, bright and blue and glittering with promise, and the waterfall was so brilliant close up – a shower of water that fell into a crystal-clear lagoon before winding out of the cave – that Fox almost forgot to speak to the panther at all as she looked about in awe.
Heckle settled on her shoulder, then hissed in her ear: ‘Heckle is just double-checking Fox will do thanking first and ordering about second.’
Fox nodded. She was, despite the trauma of the last few hours, gradually learning the importance of manners on world-saving quests. But it was useful having Heckle onside to remind her all the same.
Fox cleared her throat and spoke to the panther. ‘Thank you for rescuing us.’
The animal’s head was turned away from Fox, so that it was facing the waterfall, and, when it didn’t react, Fox wondered whether it had heard her over the roar of the water.
She tried again, a little louder this time. ‘It was very kind.’ Once more, it didn’t seem to be the right moment for high fives, handshakes or hugs, so instead Fox added: ‘We’d definitely be dead if you hadn’t shown up so… thank you.’
The panther swung its large head round and fixed Fox with deep dark eyes. But it didn’t get up. And it didn’t speak. Instead, it looked at Fox silently for a very long time and, worrying this was some sort of test, Fox brushed the hair back from her face, straightened up and tried to look as likeable as possible. Failing tests at this stage of the quest would not do at all.
The panther kept staring, its gaze cool and distant.
‘Are you Deepglint?’ Fox asked. ‘One of Jungledrop’s mighty Lofty Husks?’
At the name, there was a slight but noticeable shift in the panther’s expression. Its whiskers twitched and its ears, which had been pinned back before, swivelled forward. But it didn’t speak or nod.
And then Fox felt Heckle’s grip on her shoulder tighten and the parrot’s voice, when it came, was a whisper in her ear: ‘Heckle told you once that she can read almost everyone’s thoughts, but not those minds filled with dark magic or beasts who are fully wild.’ She paused. ‘This panther saved us from dark magic, so it must mean it’s not one of Morg’s followers, but Heckle still can’t read its thoughts which means it could be—’
‘—Fully wild.’ Fox swallowed.
The panther’s ears were still pricked and it was watching its visitors intently. Fox’s glance slid to the pile of bones in the corner of the cave and she felt a rush of panic. If this was a wild panther and not a Lofty Husk, had it whisked her off solely for its dinner? Although it wasn’t drooling, which seemed like a good sign to Fox. And, when it did open its mouth, which sent Fox edging back a few steps, it only did so to lick the patch on its leg where there wasn’t any fur.
Even so, the parrot’s guard was now up. ‘Heckle thinks we should leave,’ the bird hissed, ‘at the first chance we get. It’s not safe here.’
But there was something about this panther, something Fox couldn’t quite explain, that made her want to stay. She thought back to what Morg had said to it by the swamp. She’d only caught the first part – you were bitten by Screech and stripped of your… – but the words echoed in her head now.
Heckle, who was clearly not getting very far rummaging through the panther’s thoughts, was now rummaging through Fox’s instead.
‘Heckle is confused as to why Fox is still trying to understand the panther. We should be making plans to leave. To find the Forever Fern and Iggy. Perhaps when the beast falls asleep?’
‘But what if me and Fibber are right, Heckle?’ Fox murmured. ‘What if this panther is a Lofty Husk? What if this is Deepglint himself, only stripped of the magic that makes him a ruler: his voice, his responsibilities, his memories, his reason for being in the Bonelands at all? Maybe that’s why he’s hiding out here in Cragheart.’
The panther stood up suddenly and sloped down the rocks until it was standing before Fox. It was huge, and solid, and Fox felt as if she was in the presence of a golden boulder, but she tried her best not to move or shake or reveal the fact that she was totally talentless and unqualified for this quest. The panther circled the girl and when it came to her satchel it paused and sniffed it. A look – half recognition, half wonder – seemed to flick across its eyes as if it was remembering something… The expression vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, but it made Fox think.
‘The phoenix magic inside the satchel,’ she said to Heckle and her brother. ‘I think the panther can sense it. Maybe that’s why it came to our rescue with Morg. It felt the call of the ancient magic that it was once bound to.’
Heckle hopped to the ground and Fox tugged the satchel over the sloth and off her shoulder, glad to be free of its weight. She dug around inside. There was a surprising amount of debris within the satchel following the chase through the forest – soil, leaves, torn paper – but Fox pushed it all aside and found the phoenix tear. She drew it out and, though it didn’t glow as it had done back in the antiques shop, something in the panther’s expression changed as it locked eyes on it. A moment later, it growled and its face hardened once
