Marta Thorn saw the witch's cart pass her hollow at dawn, and she could not stand up to chase it. Her legs had turned to knots overnight. Wood ran under her skin now, spreading from the curse the witch had pressed into her three months ago. Every morning it climbed higher. She wanted one thing before it swallowed her whole: to catch that woman and force the rot back out. Marta gripped the rim of her hollow and pulled. Her knees creaked like a slammed door. Bark had sealed the joints tight. She got one foot down, then the other, and her hip locked. She fell against the twisted trunk that was both her home and her enemy. The cart shrank down the muddy track. "Move," she hissed at her own legs. "You stubborn old sticks." She struck her thigh with her fist. It thudded like a log. Something small watched her from the mud. It was shaped from swamp earth, with two little horns and eyes that glowed yellow. The imp grinned and mimicked her, slapping its own muddy leg. Marta scowled. But she saw the wet muck sliding off its body, and an idea came. "You think it's funny." She jabbed a finger at the creature. "Then earn your laugh. Fetch me mud. The black kind, thick as tar. Do it and I'll owe you a favor." The imp tilted its head. It scampered off and came back with dripping handfuls, then dumped them at her feet and clapped. Marta packed the cold mud into her stiff knees and elbows. She worked it deep into every seam of bark. The wood drank it. Slowly the joints loosened, one groaning inch at a time. She bent her knee. It moved. She flexed her fingers, and they curled. She was not fast, but she could walk. A rustle came from the roots. A small leaf-shaped creature limped out, dragging one thin leg. It had followed the imp. It looked up at her with round eyes and would not leave. "I don't have time for strays," Marta muttered. But the little thing pointed its snout down the track, toward the cart, and chirped once. Marta stared at the fading wheel ruts. Her whole body was still slow and sore. She had lost the cart from sight. But she was standing, and she knew the road it took. "Fine," she said. "Show me where those wheels went." The imp splashed ahead. The limping leaf-creature followed. Marta took her first stiff step onto the track, then another. The mud in her joints would dry within the hour. She would have to move before it hardened again.