We spent the rest of the afternoon in the cottage. Papa taught Ferdinand some of the protective spells he'd used to keep us hidden. I showed Ferdinand my childhood journals, laughing at the earnest entries about learning to talk to squirrels and grow moonflowers.

"You were lonely." Ferdinand said softly, reading between the lines.

"I was." I didn't deny it. "But I had Papa and the forest and my books. It could have been worse."

"It could have been better." He countered. "You deserved ...