through the newly fallen snow.
"I'm never going back, never!"
The sky was deep purple and snow was falling—massive soft flakes like soapsuds that caught in her eyelashes and melted on her lips.
"I'll never forgive Cedar," she hissed to Ralick as she stamped under the arch and into the garden.
"You will," his muffled voice came back from deep inside her coat. "He's your father."
"But how could he do that? How could he hide from everyone? Why didn't he come and see me?"
"He did. He watched you, you know he did, he was watching everything that was happening."
"He should have come to meet me," said Copper. "To talk to me."
"I expect it's very hard to meet a girl who's your daughter and you haven't seen her since she was four years old and you've been stuck in a treehouse all those years watching out for mad Stone people."
Despite herself Copper giggled. "But not impossible. He should have come to see me. He should have."
Copper kicked against the snow. It was falling fast, the flakes black in the dark sky, and it was getting harder to see.
"It's not the way I would have done things," she said. "I would have come straight down and hugged me and, and just filled in all the gaps and the time we've missed."
"But he's not you," said Ralick. "He does things his way, and even if you don't like it much, you'll have to accept it. He is your father."
"I know. Just not quite the father I'd planned on having. Other people have time to get to know their fathers. They learn to love them over years and years. The father I'd imagined for myself was so different. . . ."
"What was he like?"
"Oh, he was more handsome—now that I think of it, he looked very much like Action Man. And he carried me about when I was a baby and built me a dollhouse. And he held my hand as we walked through the park. I suppose that's what all orphans imagine. ..."
"This one might do those things."
"He might. If there was a park and if I'd let him hold my hand. . . . I'll have to go back, I suppose," she said more calmly. "But I don't know what I'm going to say to him. I wish I'd never come—but I love it here. . . . Oh, dear . . ."
Then she stopped.
"Look. Look, Ralick, it's Silver!"
Silver was standing beside a small gate that led out of the garden. She looked like a dirty smudge against the snow, almost a shadow, hardly there at all.
"Silver?"
Silver heard her, her ears pricked up, but then she shrank back, as if she didn't want to come.
"I'll have to go and get her," said Copper. "I wonder what's happened." She trudged across the snow. "Here, Silver! Here!"
But as she got nearer, the dog backed farther away and slunk back deeper into the shadow of the gateway.
Something was very wrong.
Copper glanced back at Spindle House; it was blurred by the snow and looked dim and unreal.
"Maybe it was just a dream, Ralick," she said. "I haven't really got a father and an uncle at all. Spindle House doesn't exist. See how it's disappearing in the snow? If I turn my back on it, it'll go forever."
"Well, don't then," growled Ralick.
"But I've got to get Silver. I mustn't lose the house. I'm scared."
She took three steps backward, watching the house, defying it to vanish in the swirling snow.
"Silver!" she called. "Silver!"
But even her voice was being sucked away. If I'm not careful, there'll be no house, no dog and no me, she thought.
Suddenly, Silver stepped out of the shadows and it was dreadful. Copper staggered backward and gasped, as shocked as if a snowball had hit her full in the face.
Because Silver wasn't Silver anymore. This dog had eyes that blazed yellow and fiery. Her fur was rough and ragged. Her lips curled back in a growl, showing pointed, dangerous teeth. She angled her nose up to the sky and howled: a terrible noise, a nightmare noise.
"She's not a dog. Dogs don't do that," whispered Copper. "Oh, Ralick, she's a ... wolf."
The word dropped out of Copper's mouth like a stone. "Wolf!"
As she spoke, as if on cue, the alarm bell
"I'm never going back, never!"
The sky was deep purple and snow was falling—massive soft flakes like soapsuds that caught in her eyelashes and melted on her lips.
"I'll never forgive Cedar," she hissed to Ralick as she stamped under the arch and into the garden.
"You will," his muffled voice came back from deep inside her coat. "He's your father."
"But how could he do that? How could he hide from everyone? Why didn't he come and see me?"
"He did. He watched you, you know he did, he was watching everything that was happening."
"He should have come to meet me," said Copper. "To talk to me."
"I expect it's very hard to meet a girl who's your daughter and you haven't seen her since she was four years old and you've been stuck in a treehouse all those years watching out for mad Stone people."
Despite herself Copper giggled. "But not impossible. He should have come to see me. He should have."
Copper kicked against the snow. It was falling fast, the flakes black in the dark sky, and it was getting harder to see.
"It's not the way I would have done things," she said. "I would have come straight down and hugged me and, and just filled in all the gaps and the time we've missed."
"But he's not you," said Ralick. "He does things his way, and even if you don't like it much, you'll have to accept it. He is your father."
"I know. Just not quite the father I'd planned on having. Other people have time to get to know their fathers. They learn to love them over years and years. The father I'd imagined for myself was so different. . . ."
"What was he like?"
"Oh, he was more handsome—now that I think of it, he looked very much like Action Man. And he carried me about when I was a baby and built me a dollhouse. And he held my hand as we walked through the park. I suppose that's what all orphans imagine. ..."
"This one might do those things."
"He might. If there was a park and if I'd let him hold my hand. . . . I'll have to go back, I suppose," she said more calmly. "But I don't know what I'm going to say to him. I wish I'd never come—but I love it here. . . . Oh, dear . . ."
Then she stopped.
"Look. Look, Ralick, it's Silver!"
Silver was standing beside a small gate that led out of the garden. She looked like a dirty smudge against the snow, almost a shadow, hardly there at all.
"Silver?"
Silver heard her, her ears pricked up, but then she shrank back, as if she didn't want to come.
"I'll have to go and get her," said Copper. "I wonder what's happened." She trudged across the snow. "Here, Silver! Here!"
But as she got nearer, the dog backed farther away and slunk back deeper into the shadow of the gateway.
Something was very wrong.
Copper glanced back at Spindle House; it was blurred by the snow and looked dim and unreal.
"Maybe it was just a dream, Ralick," she said. "I haven't really got a father and an uncle at all. Spindle House doesn't exist. See how it's disappearing in the snow? If I turn my back on it, it'll go forever."
"Well, don't then," growled Ralick.
"But I've got to get Silver. I mustn't lose the house. I'm scared."
She took three steps backward, watching the house, defying it to vanish in the swirling snow.
"Silver!" she called. "Silver!"
But even her voice was being sucked away. If I'm not careful, there'll be no house, no dog and no me, she thought.
Suddenly, Silver stepped out of the shadows and it was dreadful. Copper staggered backward and gasped, as shocked as if a snowball had hit her full in the face.
Because Silver wasn't Silver anymore. This dog had eyes that blazed yellow and fiery. Her fur was rough and ragged. Her lips curled back in a growl, showing pointed, dangerous teeth. She angled her nose up to the sky and howled: a terrible noise, a nightmare noise.
"She's not a dog. Dogs don't do that," whispered Copper. "Oh, Ralick, she's a ... wolf."
The word dropped out of Copper's mouth like a stone. "Wolf!"
As she spoke, as if on cue, the alarm bell
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