Sometimes Kissen dreams of flying. Curled up in a hole in a hollow tree, she closes her eyes and wishes she was somewhere else. Somewhere full of sunlight and warmth. A castle perhaps, or a caravan heading out along a wide, well travelled road. She soars above, revelling in the feel of the wind and the freedom.

“You can fly,” is all Unraveller says when Kissen mentions her dream the next day.

“Not like you,” Kissen replies. “Hovering and flitting from tree to tree isn’t really flying, is it?”

There’s not much Unraveller can say in reply - well, nothing that won’t come out sounding mean or sarcastic. So she contents herself with a shake of the head and a huff.

Felhallow’s not such a bad place. Kissen didn’t like the city when she first came, but once she started ignoring the ghosts and other strange creatures she started warming up to it. It’s not quite home, but almost. And that’s good enough for her these days. She does like the marketplace, with its colourful tents and merchants selling their wares. She flits from stall to stall, but rarely buys anything. Sometimes her visits go entirely unnoticed.

That’s the trouble with being small, she thinks. And quiet.

She doesn’t normally mind, but it would be nice to be noticed without having to draw someone’s attention for once. But then…she wouldn’t be Kissen if she was loud and brash. She’d be someone else entirely. But would that be a bad thing?