Alice nodded.

She had no fewer than a thousand questions and concerns, but she managed to swallow them down. Right now, she would make do with this reconciliation, and the rest, she hoped, would come.

Oliver knelt in front of her and smiled. A single tear had escaped down the side of his face, and the breeze touched his tunic, folding it gently between its fingers. Oliver closed his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Alice,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.”

And because she was a girl made of more heart than hurt, she forgave him on the condition that he, too, forgive her.

Easily done.

Oliver took her only hand and held it right up against his chest, and then they sank, he and she, together, the two of them, right into the ground.

When Alice opened her eyes again, she felt the blazing heat of a familiar sun beating down her back. Alice’s whole body stiffened, and Oliver, who was now paying close attention, misunderstood her fear.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “These emergency exits can be a bit uncomfortable.”

“Emergency exits?” said Alice, distracted.

Oliver nodded. “If you want to get to the next closest village as quickly as possible, you always exit downward. But the transitions can be a bit rough.” He laughed. “One time I down-exited directly into a mass of dead sheep and I couldn’t get the wool out of my mouth for days after. I was coughing up hairballs for hours—”

“Oliver, we should leave. Now.” The ground beneath them was blisteringly hot, and Alice was beginning to see spots. “This is where the fox took me. This is near the entrance of that paper village. I’m sure of it.”

Oliver froze, words still caught in his mouth; luckily, his shock lasted only a moment. He took Alice’s hand and began to run, but just as they picked up speed Oliver was knocked sideways, hitting the ground hard as he fell. Alice cried out, panicked, and tried to help him up, but she was abruptly yanked backward, tossed face-first into the dirt, and dragged off by the hem of her skirts. She kicked and screamed and managed to break free twice before being pinned down again, but fear had finally paralyzed her.

The paper fox had returned, and this time, he’d brought his friends.

Four paper foxes had cornered them. Three of the four were built of a rather normal (read: dull) shade of brown paper, and these three had Oliver cowed on the ground. The only fox built of a vibrant copper color was the one standing directly over Alice’s body. This was her fox. The very same one from before.

“Alice!” Oliver shouted. She could hear him struggling. “Alice, are you—” But his voice was quickly muffled. Alice chanced a glance his way only to find that one of the foxes had wrapped its tail around Oliver’s mouth.

Alice felt her pulse racing. The heat was sweltering; sweat was beading at her brow. The fox had locked eyes with her and she was doing all she could to stay calm. Alice knew she should say something, but she wasn’t sure where or how to begin. This was a paper fox, after all, and as far as Alice was concerned, there was no such thing as magic that could make animals talk.

Still, she had to try.

“What do you want from me?” she said.

The fox stared at her for just a beat longer before pawing aggressively at her skirt pockets.

“What is it?” Alice pulled herself up to a seated position, and the fox retreated a few steps. She patted her pockets with her single hand and unearthed their contents: four visitor pamphlets, her black card, and her blond ruler. Alice held them out to the fox. “What do you want?” she asked. “Which one?”

The fox nodded through her wares, took one of the pamphlets into his mouth, and made a strange whine, indicating with his head that she should retrieve the pamphlet from him. Alice wasn’t sure what was happening, exactly, but she was relieved to know that at least her life was no longer in immediate danger. She tugged the pamphlet out from between the fox’s paper jaws and glanced at the title.

— FURTHERMORE PHRASEBOOK —

How to Understand the Languages You Don’t Speak

Alice inhaled sharply. She looked from the fox to the pamphlet and felt her heart pound quickly in her chest—but this time, Alice wasn’t afraid. She was excited. She flipped open the pamphlet with an eagerness that dispelled any lingering fears she might’ve had, but Alice’s eagerness quickly turned to dismay.

Every inch of the inside pages was blank.

Heartbroken, she hung her head. Perhaps the fox (or maybe Ted?) had made a mistake. (Or, you know, there’d been a printing error.) Whatever the reason for her misfortune, Alice was disappointed. She’d already begun refolding the pamphlet when a gentle, handsome voice said,

“Leave it open.”

Alice froze.

“Ms. Queensmeadow, please. Look at me.”

In that moment Alice was certain she’d misplaced the whole of her mind; but let me reassure you, dear reader, that she was in full possession of her faculties. The fox was most definitely speaking to her, and—

Can I just say? I don’t know that I understand the extent of her shock. The fox, like most animals (paper or no), is fully capable of speech. That we make few concerted efforts to understand the fox language is a fault entirely our own.

Now, where were we?

“Ms. Queensmeadow, please,” said the fox. “Look at me.”

Alice looked up, astounded.

“You are in danger, Ms. Queensmeadow. You must leave here at once.”

“Of course I’m in danger,” said Alice. “You’ve tried to kill me twice already!”

The fox shook his head. “I was not trying to kill you. I was trying to hide you. I do sincerely apologize for what happened to your arm—”

Alice harrumphed.