Oliver looked worried for only a moment before his worries danced away. He laughed, which made him look lovely; and then he charged ahead, whistling a tune she could not place.

Finally.

They stood in front of a door attached to no house (this seemed to be commonplace in Furthermore), and Oliver was looking nervous. Alice couldn’t understand why—it was just a door, after all, and very similar to the one they had encountered at Border Control—though this one was even bigger, and much taller, and bright red and shiny as an apple, with a fancy handle made of gold. It was a beautiful door, but its secrets must’ve been contained somewhere she could not see, because on the other side of the door was nothing but trees.

She took a moment to inspect it.

“Where—Alice, where are on earth are you going?” Oliver said.

“I just want to look around,” she said. “It’s only right that I have a chance to see what we’re getting ourselves into, isn’t it?”

Oliver threw his hands up in defeat. And then he leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms, and nodded, as if to say, Please, by all means, take a good look.

So she did.

They were right at the edge of the woods now and surrounded on every side by very, very tall trees whose densely packed, triangle-shaped leaves were a shade of green so dark she had to squint to see their silhouettes. But when she tiptoed farther into the forest, Oliver panicked.

“Not in there,” he said, pleading. “Not—Alice—”

“Why?” She glanced back. The look on his face, really. “What’s the matter?”

“Not in the forest,” he said quietly. “Please, Alice.”

“Oh very well.” Alice relented and tried not to roll her eyes, thinking of how gracious, how patient and tolerant she was of Oliver’s whining, and turned to leave. But then—

Well, it was strange.

She couldn’t move.

She didn’t want to alarm Oliver, so she didn’t say a word, and anyway she was sure she’d just gotten her skirts caught on a branch or some such. It certainly felt that way.

Maybe if she tugged a little harder?

Hm.

No, that wasn’t working either.

She tried again.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “Oliver?” she said loudly. “I appear to be stuck.”

“What do you mean?” Oliver was in front of her in an instant, paler than a wax moon, but careful to maintain his distance.

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about,” she assured him. “Really.” She tried to smile. “It’s just that”—she tried tugging—“I can’t seem to”—she tugged again—“get free.” She sighed. “Will you see if my skirts are caught on something?”

Oliver went even paler. He was such a little turtle sometimes, his neck disappearing into his chest. “I told you not to go in the forest,” was all he managed to whisper.

“Oliver, please,” Alice said, irritated now. “Don’t be such a—”

There was no time to finish that sentence, I’m afraid. No time at all, no, because Alice was suddenly screaming. It was all fairly embarrassing, actually, because the ordeal was over and done with in only a moment.

Alice fell to the ground at Oliver’s feet and righted herself in a hurry, dusting off her skirts and whipping around too quickly, trying to get a look at her assailant.

But Oliver’s face froze her still.

He was staring at something with a look of shock she could not have anticipated. She thought nothing in Furthermore could surprise him. She thought he’d seen it all. Apparently not.

This was a fox.

An origami fox. A sheet of rust-and-white paper folded expertly into a real, live, deceptively lovely animal.

It scampered about and made little fox noises and yipped and jumped and chased itself; and when it trotted along toward Alice, she wasn’t afraid at all.

Oliver had nearly climbed a tree in fright, but Alice stepped forward, hand outstretched, ready to pet the paper fox. It bounded forward and nuzzled her hand before plowing into her legs, and she laughed and laughed and touched the top of its head, awed by the coarse paper of its fur.

“What’s your name?” she whispered, crouching down to greet him. Or her. She didn’t know. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

The fox jumped around her and bit her skirts, tugging on her clothes. For a fox with no teeth, it had quite a bite. Still, she felt no danger. Her new fox friend held her in place until finally she pet its head again. “Will you let me go?” she asked.

Slowly, it nodded, stepped back, and fell into a bow.

“You understand me?” she asked, astounded.

Again, the fox nodded.

“Alice,” said Oliver, his voice high and shaky. He was rifling through his bag with great urgency. “Could we please get going?”

“Do you know anything about paper foxes?” she asked him. “Have you ever seen one before?”

Oliver looked up, startled, his maps clutched in one hand, his notebook in the other, and shook his head. “Furthermore is made up of hundreds of villages,” he explained, now flipping through the pages of his notebook, “and I’ve only been to sixty-eight of them.” He paused, scanned a few pages, gave a disappointed sigh, and stuffed the notebook back in his bag.

Alice was surprised to see Oliver so anxious.

“I haven’t any idea where this fox came from,” Oliver continued, “but he’s not from here, and your father—well, your father never mentioned a paper fox in his entries, so this can’t possibly be good. No, this can’t possibly . . .”

“His entries?” Alice said, surprised. “You mean that notebook belonged to Father?”