Lunaria Shimmerwind held the last faerie egg against her chest and felt the frost bite through her wings. The egg was the only one left unbroken. Every other shell in the glade had gone black and brittle, poisoned by the iron blight creeping through the roots. She had sworn to hatch this one before the rot reached its surface. But she had no safe place to keep it warm, and the cold was already crawling across the pale shell. She ran. The ground crunched under her bare feet. She cupped the egg close, but her small body gave almost no heat. A thin crack opened near the top of the shell. Lunaria stopped and pressed her thumb over it. The crack held. The next one would not. She needed shelter. She needed warmth. She had neither. Then she smelled blossoms. Beyond a curtain of long purple branches stood a little weeping willow, its leaves hanging like soft violet ropes. Under them crouched three small foxes. Flowers of blue and pink grew right through their fur, and tiny wings folded against their backs. The largest fox lifted its head and watched her. "Please," Lunaria said. "The egg is freezing. It will crack before morning." The fox stepped toward her. It did not speak. It only pressed its warm nose to the egg, then turned and trotted back under the willow. The two smaller foxes followed. Lunaria understood. She ran after them. The branches parted, and she saw a hut tucked against the willow's trunk. Moss covered its curved roof. Mushrooms grew along the eaves. A round wooden door stood half open. The big fox nudged it wider with its shoulder. Inside, the air was dry and still. But still was not warm, and the egg needed warmth now. Lunaria turned in a slow circle, searching the dim room. Then a soft shape uncurled in the corner. A cat rose and stretched. Its fur was thick and golden, and heat rolled off its body like sun off a stone. The cat blinked at Lunaria, then at the egg. It sank back down and curled into a tight ring, leaving a hollow in the center of its belly. Lunaria knelt. With both hands she lowered the egg into that hollow of warm fur. The cat tucked its tail around the shell. Warmth soaked into the pale surface. The thin crack stopped spreading. Lunaria sat back and let out a long breath. The egg was safe. It was warm. It would not crack tonight. Then she leaned close and saw it. A single dark fleck marred the shell near the base. It was small as a seed and grey as old iron. She touched it. The spot was cold, though everything around it was warm. The blight had already found the egg.