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He put a finger to his lips to quiet her and together they watched as one wolf cub, one wild kitten, one young hawk, and one fawn all lined up in a row behind a line drawn into the dirt of the forest floor.

The hawk gave out a wild cry and the animals all raced forward at the same time, in the same direction. Not one of them attacked another.

They raced to a ring of huge stones, then stopped.

The hawk had won the contest easily, and circled overhead, cawing victory to the skies.

The wolf cub, the wild kitten, and the fawn had all seemed to come across the clearing at the same moment to Richon. He could not tell who had won, if it was indeed a race.

Richon turned to Chala, but she seemed as puzzled by this as he was. Animals might have contests with their own kind, but not outside that sphere.

Then, as Richon watched, the shape of the wolf cub began to waver. The snout shortened. The legs lengthened. And then there was a boy standing in the forest by the other animals.

A human boy, perhaps seven or eight years old.

The other animals also made their transformation back into human shape. The fawn was a young girl, taller than all the others, and with thin shoulders and hips that would make her a fast runner even in her human shape.

The young hawk was the last to change, floating down from his victory flight and turning into a boy of three or four years of age.

“I won! I won!” he chortled.

“You won,” said the girl, patting the boy—her younger brother?—on the head.

“He always wins,” complained the boy who had been a wild kitten.

“Not always. When we do an obstacle course, he has to swoop back down and up, and then you best him,” said the girl.

“Then let’s do that kind of race, right now,” said the boy.

The girl made a face. “Not now. We’re too tired now. And it’s my turn to choose next.”

“What are you going to choose, then?”

“We’ve never done a race in the water.”

“Water?” asked the boy kitten, shuddering. “I hate water. You know that.”

“I know.” The girl smiled broadly. “We’re none of us really water creatures. That’s why it will be fun!”

But the boy was not satisfied. He sulked and said, “Why do I have to be a wild kitten all the time, anyway? Why can’t I be a fish sometimes, or a bear, or a bird, like him?”

“If you were a bird,” said the girl, “you’d still find a way to complain. Honestly, you take all the fun out of it. We might as well be humans and be done with it.” She stood up, brushed herself off, and walked away, her brother following behind, a little jump in his steps as if he thought he could fly.

Richon stared at them.

“They have magic like Frant and Sharla and their children,” said Chala.

More magic than Prince George. Magic like that told in the old stories.

Yet Richon had never heard of it before.

“They live here, on the edge of the kingdom,” said Richon.

“Yes,” said Chala. “To keep safe from your laws.”

Richon took in a sharp breath. This was precisely what he had feared, that Chala would see all his mistakes up close and be unable to separate them from who he had become.

“The ones in the past,” Chala went on. “Before you met the wild man and learned of the good of magic.” She seemed to think it had nothing to do with him now.

Gradually Richon relaxed. “In the future those who are like Frant and Sharla, like these children, will have to live in hiding,” he said. “Because of those same laws.”

“I do not think that can be all of it,” said Chala. “There must be another reason that magic has faded.”

“Unmagic,” said Richon slowly. He had not seen it so clearly from the future. The unmagic must indeed be part of why so much had changed, so quickly. If the cat man spread it in the forests, it would affect animals and humans alike, and their connection with each other.

That was what he must stop, though he had no idea how one man could do any such thing. Especially a man who had no magic of his own.

Richon’s thoughts were interrupted by a whimpering sound in the distance. It sounded like a human child. He beckoned