Crooked hat. Long nose shaped like a parsnip. Eyes that have seen far too much and a tongue that reveals far too little. She moves through the dark like she owns it - because, in a way, she does.

Pale stone rising from the dark forest like something that grew there. Crooked at the top. Warm in one window. If you look closely enough - and you should - it looks almost exactly like a parsnip.

Methodical. Determined. The kind of boy who measures twice and acts once. When something goes missing from his allotment, Henry does not sulk - he studies, he schemes, and he builds something rather clever indeed.

Sharp eyes. Sharper instincts. While others panic, Maya observes. She notices what others miss - the pattern in the footprints, the clue in the mud - and she alone has the nerve to act on it.