It had been hours. How many, he wasn’t sure, but it was dark out now. Dark and wet, he struggled to see more than a few feet in front of his own face. Were they even in the woods? Where were they?

“We’re not going to make it,” Cornflower said.

He had grown quiet. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. We’re going to die.”

Acorn looked up at just the right time to see the sky open up, as a great beam, some sort of serpent of light, shot out of the clouds and straight between his eyes.