What Makes A Detective.

Chapter 11

Toby ducked under a branch and kept walking. If he kept a straight path until he reached the hill, the woodcutter's cottage wouldn't be too far away from there.

Absent mindedly, he picked up a hefty looking stick from the ground. You could never be too careful.

The woods, despite being fully lit by the midday sun, were completely silent, and Toby could only hear his own soft footsteps brushing though the pine leaves. Most of this wood was made up of tall, thin pinelike trees, with branches that only really began at about two feet above Toby's head. The floor was littered with the little spiky needles, and, luckily for Toby, you could see for miles all around, as each tree had been methodically and evenly planted a certain distance away from the next. In the past, Harper Woods had been described as a labyrinth, but when you had a good sense of direction and a calm set of nerves, which Toby did, both,in abundance, it was really not that much of a big deal.

Crunch.

But that was.

Toby froze to the spot, listening hard. He'd just heard a footstep that was definitely not his own.

Slowly, he turned, stick in hand, to where the sound seemed to be coming from. He didn't dare call out, but Toby peered into the web of tree trunks keenly. He could hear clear footsteps now, stumbling every few seconds and moving pretty fast. When the sound of panicked whimpering also came to his ears, Toby lowered the stick and called quietly.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

The footsteps and the crying stopped instantly, and just in the distance, behind a tree, Toby spotted a little red cloak, peeping fearfully at him. He smiled, before checking there was nobody behind him, and waving.

"Hello?" he called again. The little red cloak seemed to shuffle a little way towards him.

"My name's Toby. What's yours?" Toby asked. Slowly, he managed to coax the little person in the little red cloak all the way over to him, so he could get a decent look. It was a girl, of about ten or eleven, and Toby didn't recognise her from the village. She had sharp green eyes, and mousy brown hair, a plain little face, pale skin, and she was small and willowy. She began to shiver as she stood in front of him, and it was only then that Toby realized she was soaked through.

"I'm Toby" he said again. "What's your name?"

"Rosie" came the nervous reply.

"Are you lost?" Toby asked, studying Rosie's muddy boots and cloak hem, and he bedraggled hair.

Rosie nodded, sniffing.

"I was playing with my sisters" she explained timidly. "By the river. I fell in."

"Where are your sisters now?" Toby asked. Rosie shrugged, hanging her head.

"I don't know. I don't know how far I came before I got out."

"I'll take you back to my village" Toby told her gently. "We'll warm you up, and see if we can't find your family. What's your full name?"

"Rosamund" Rosie replied. "Rosamund Winter."

Toby smiled, before looking around. They were still in the woods, but everything seemed an awful lot less familiar than it had done before he had started talking to Rosie.

"Toby?" the little girl asked, moving closer. She'd obviously seen the expression on his face, Toby realized.

"You do know how to get back to your village, don't you?"

"Yeah" Toby lied brazenly, trying to make sure Rosie didn't get all panicked.

"I know when people are lying, Toby" the little girl said, suddenly sounding an awful lot calmer than she had before. Toby looked at her in surprise, as she slipped her little hand into his.