The other children gathered around her, following her lead, and soon the adults too were dropping to their knees.
Something nudged Poppy’s shoulder again. She turned her head. A weasel with golden eyes was biting through the whips, loosening her binds. “Nula?” Poppy breathed. The weasel nudged her with its cold, wet nose. Poppy tried to smile, but everything was heavy.
“Poppy!” Mack’s voice called from somewhere below as her eyes drifted shut again. “Hold on! Help is coming.”
The rest came in hazy flashes.
There was a scrabbling of limbs.
A sense of falling, then of floating.
Poppy opened her eyes to find herself in the grasp of a picker. It carried her gently against its abdomen, down the tree to join its herd where they waited at the bottom.
The other pickers parted as it made its way across the meadow with Poppy. From the picker’s embrace, Poppy caught the gleam of golden light against the crushed meadow grasses as the sun crested the hillside. She saw townsfolk watching, some kneeling to join their pledges to the new promise, pressing their hands—their lifeblood—to the soil.
The picker let her down, slowly backing away to join its herd. Then Poppy’s family was around her. Her mother pulled her into her lap, rocking her. “You’re all right,” she said. “You’re all right.”
Mack and Nula pressed close, each holding one of Poppy’s hands.
The herd of pickers crept back into the wood, and with their departure, the last of the fear and loathing seemed to leave the humans of Strange Hollow. People trickled off to their own homes, their arms around their children.
Mack leaned over, staring into Poppy’s face, his copper-brown eyes sharp. “Don’t ever do that again,” he said.
Poppy coughed a laugh. “No problem,” she managed to say.
She stared past him to where the thorn trees loomed over the ruins of her home. The scent of smoke hung thick, making her eyes burn and water.
Mack held her hand tighter as her eyes began to drift shut. She fought them open long enough to see her parents shifting to join more of the people of the Hollows as they knelt to make their promise.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It took Poppy two days to wake up, but when she did, there was an entire pot of mac and cheese and an enormous cup of hot chocolate waiting. Memories flooded her system as she ate, studying the bright, round room to figure out where she was.
Her home had burned. She remembered that well enough, and tears pricked at the back of her eyes. But this room was made of roots too. She could see the coils in the walls and across the floor. A branch held the lamp over her bed.
She shifted and spotted Mack, asleep in a chair across the room. There was no sign of Nula.
The door creaked open, and Jute poked his head in, his quail-egg eyes blinking in the bright sunlight. He glanced at Mack and back at her. “How are you feeling, child?” he whispered, coming to perch on a small three-legged stool by her bedside.
Poppy considered. “All right, I think. It’s … hard to tell, actually.”
He smiled. “I’m not surprised. We took forty-nine thorns out of your body, sweetling.” His bushy brows furrowed. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”
Poppy picked up Jute’s hand and held his warm palm to her cheek. She closed her eyes and inhaled his green smoky scent. “It was all I could think of to do,” she said.
He stroked her hair. “Well. You’re alive. And everything has changed.”
Poppy’s eyes flew open. “Really? Tell me!” She paused. “And where are we?”
Jute looked around the room. “We’re home. South of the new thorn tree grove, farther down the meadow. Still at the edge of Strange Hollow.”
“But—”
“The Holly Oak. It was built by the time we left the ashes of the old one. It’s smaller.” He dropped his hands back in his lap with a wink. “But you still have the tower.”
“And the Hollow?”
“Has been remarkably quiet.” His nose wrinkled. “But I must tell you, there has been the most perplexing number of children banging on the door and demanding to see you.”
Poppy laughed.
“They’re quite persistent. I imagine they’ll be back before long.”
“Where are Mom and Dad?”
“Ah.” Jute’s smile widened. “They’ve gone to the Holly Oak. She requested that they come and tell her the story of the battle, and of your sacrifice. And—” He held up a finger to keep her from interrupting. “Your parents both said you should join them there when you’re feeling well enough.” His eyes grew sappy. “They said they hope you’ll tell them your story … and that you’ll let them help you with your next project.” He held out his hand for her empty mug. “More?”
Poppy’s throat worked as she struggled to find words. At last she just nodded, and Jute gave her a knowing look and took the mug from her hand.
As the door closed behind him, Mack stirred. He did a double take when he saw she was awake and sitting up.
He shot to his feet, swaying slightly. His tight copper-brown curls lay flat on one side where he had slept on them. “Poppy!” he croaked. “You’re awake! You’re okay? How are you?”
She gave a tight laugh and held up her bandaged arms. “Well. I’ve been better … but aside from feeling like a pincushion, I think I’ll live.”
Mack moved to the stool. His face was drawn, as serious as she had ever seen him. “When I saw you up there … Pop.” His voice caught. “I thought for sure … you were…”
Poppy’s throat tightened. She took his hand, her own disappearing underneath. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Mack looked down at his lap, and Poppy saw a tear drop.
“Mack—”
“I’m really proud of you, Poppy.”
Loud barking cut him off, followed by the sound of feet—like a herd of something—pounding up the stairs. Poppy leaned forward as the door flew open and a tiger careened into
