Every spring, a mortal man wandered into Petalwhisper's glade, and every spring she loved him a little more from behind the ferns. This year the paths would not let him in. Petalwhisper stood at the glade's edge and watched the trails knot themselves. Roots humped up where the flat dirt had been. Branches leaned across gaps that had stayed open for a hundred springs. She knew who did this. A rival spirit lived deep in the wood, and she hated that a mortal made Petalwhisper glow. Far off, Petalwhisper heard him. He called out, confused, his boots crunching the wrong way. If he circled long enough, he would give up and leave. Then he would never come back. She could not straighten every path alone. The tangling spread faster than she could mend it. A rainbow caterpillar inched along a low branch beside her. Its bright bands caught the light, and its round face turned toward the sound of the man. Petalwhisper had shared crumbs of nectar with the little creature all season. It knew the wood better than any fairy. It knew every hidden gap the roots had not yet closed. "Please," Petalwhisper said. "Lead him to me. Take the ways she hasn't ruined yet." The caterpillar bobbed its head and dropped to the ground. It set off through the underbrush, slow but sure, weaving between the swelling roots. Petalwhisper flew above, snapping thin twigs and coaxing blossoms open to mark the trail. Wherever the caterpillar turned, she dropped a glowing petal so the man could follow. The wood fought them. A wall of thorns rose across one gap. The caterpillar simply ducked beneath, through a tunnel of moss too small for the tangling magic to reach. Petalwhisper squeezed after it. She heard the man's voice grow nearer. He was following the petals now. His breathing was ragged, but his steps came steady. The caterpillar reached the glade's true entrance and stopped. Petalwhisper landed and held her breath. Twigs cracked. Then the man stumbled through the last screen of leaves and into the clearing. Sunlight fell on his tired, grateful face. He did not see Petalwhisper. He only saw the flowers, and he laughed with relief. He was safe. He had come back. Behind him, the paths slammed shut. Every trail into the glade twisted into a solid knot of root and thorn. The man was inside now. So was Petalwhisper. But the way out was gone, and so was the way in for anyone else. The rival spirit had not lost. She had simply changed the trap. Petalwhisper looked at the sealed wood, then at the mortal warming himself in her glade. She had won him a season. Now they were both locked in, and the spirit who tangled the paths knew exactly where they were.