The Toll Fox
Sitting on a mossy stone, wrapped in his own enormous silver tail, is a fox. He is very pleased with himself, in the way of cats, professors, and foxes.
“Bramble,” he says, with a small bow. “Keeper of this path, retired adventurer, and collector of tolls. You'll be wanting to pass through my wood, hunted as you are — oh yes, the trees told me, the trees tell me everything, it's exhausting. The toll is one true answer to one question. Each.”
“Ask,” says Sera warily.
The fox's eyes go to her first. “Guardian. When the storm came and you fled with the Pearl — some whisper you meant to steal it. So: did you ever, even for one heartbeat, want to keep it?”
Sera is silent long enough for the leaves to stop rustling. “Yes,” she says at last, very low. “One heartbeat. It was singing, and it was beautiful, and I was alone. Then I remembered who I was.” Bramble nods slowly, as if she has passed something. Then the amber eyes swing to you. “And you, child: why are you here, when there was a cellar with an iron door?”
“Because she said together,” you answer, “and I wanted it to be true.”