Luna Willowmist pressed her palm to the frozen ground and felt her healing garden dying. Frost had come a month too early. The blue heartleaf and the silver mint, the herbs she used to mend broken wings and fevered creatures, had already curled black at the edges. She had spent two seasons coaxing this hidden glade into a place where any weary animal could rest. Now the cold threatened to take it in a single night. She knelt among the stiff rows and counted what she could save. Not enough. A wounded sparrow slept in her cottage, its wing wrapped in cloth. Without the heartleaf, the wing would not knit. Luna's wings trembled against her back. She wiped her eyes and made herself think. The garden could not be warmed. But it could be moved. Luna ran to the cottage where flowers spilled from every window box. She grabbed clay pots from the doorstep and a small spade. Then she began to dig. Her fingers cracked the cold soil. She lifted each herb by its roots and settled it into a pot, careful not to tear the fragile stems. The work was slow. The frost thickened while she dug. A cold nose bumped her elbow. Her glimmerpup pushed against her, fur white and gold, tiny wings fluttering. He whined and nosed the pots toward the cottage door. "Inside," Luna said. "You're right. Inside where it's warm." She carried the pots two at a time through the door. The glimmerpup nudged the smaller ones across the threshold with his paws. His breath fogged in the chilled air. Together they lined the herbs along the hearth, where a low fire still burned. Luna worked until her back ached and her hands were caked with dirt. The frost crept to the very edge of the doorstep, then stopped at the warm stone. By the time the last pot stood safe indoors, the sky had gone dark. Luna sat on the floor and pressed a heartleaf between her fingers. The leaf was cool but alive. Green, not black. She had saved them. She crossed to the sparrow's basket and laid a fresh heartleaf poultice over the wing. The bird stirred and settled. Its breathing eased. But the glimmerpup did not settle. He paced to the window and pressed his nose to the glass, whining low. Luna followed his gaze. Beyond the frozen garden, small shapes moved through the trees. Shivering shapes. A hare limped over the white ground. Behind it came a fox, then a squirrel, then more she could not count. The frost had driven them from the whole forest. They were all coming to her glade for shelter. And she had only one warm cottage and a single fire. Luna stood. She had saved her herbs. Now she had to save everyone who had heard the glade was safe.