The Wee Free Men

Hamish.
    “It’s a susurration!”
    The turf was trembling. The sky looked as though Tiffany was inside a diamond. And there was the smell of snow.
    Hamish pulled a pipe out of his waistcoat and blew it. Tiffany couldn’t hear anything, but there was a scream from high above.
    “I’ll let ye know what’s happenin’!” cried the pictsie, and started to run across the turf. As he ran, he raised his arms over his head.
    He was moving fast by then, but the buzzard sped down and across the turf even faster and plucked him neatly into the air. As it beat at the air to rise again, Tiffany saw Hamish climbing up through the feathers.
    The other Feegles had formed a circle around Tiffany, and this time they’d drawn their swords.
    “Whut’s the plan, Rob?” said one of them.
    “Okay, lads, this is what we’ll do. As soon as we see somethin’, we’ll attack it. Right?”
    This caused a cheer.
    “Ach, ’tis a good plan,” said Daft Wullie.
    Snow formed on the ground. It didn’t fall, it…did the opposite of melting, rising up fast until the Nac Mac Feegle were waist deep, and then buried up to their necks. Some of the smaller ones began to disappear, and there was muffled cursing from under the snow.
    And then the dogs appeared, lumbering toward Tiffany with a nasty purpose. They were big, black, and heavily built, with orange eyebrows, and she could hear the growling from where she stood.
    She plunged her hand into her apron pocket and pulled out the toad. It blinked in the sharp light.
    “Wazzup?”
    Tiffany turned him around to face the things. “What are these ?” she said.
    “Oh, doak! Grimhounds! Bad! Eyes of fire and teeth of razor blades!”
    “What should I do about them?”
    “Not be here?”
    “Thank you! You’ve been very helpful!” Tiffany dropped him back in her pocket and gripped the frying pan.
    It wasn’t going to be good enough, she knew that. The black dogs were big, and their eyes were flames, and when they opened their mouths to snarl, she could see the light glint on steel. She’d never been afraid of dogs, but these dogs weren’t from anywhere outside of a nightmare.
    There were three of them, but they circled so that no matter how she turned, she could only see two at once. She knew it would be the one behind her that attacked first.
    “Tell me something more about them!” she said, turning the other way to the circle so that she could watch all three.
    “Said to haunt graveyards!” said a voice from her apron.
    “Why is there snow on the ground?”
    “This has become the Queen’s land. It’s always winter there! When she puts out her power, it comes here too!”
    But Tiffany could see green some way off, beyond the circle of snow.
    Think, think…
    The Queen’s land. A magical place where there really were monsters. Anything you could dream of in nightmares. Dogs with eyes of flame and teeth of razors, yes. You didn’t get them in the real world, they wouldn’t work….
    They were drooling now, red tongues hanging out, enjoying her fear. And part of Tiffany thought: It’s amazing their teeth don’t rust….
    …and took charge of her legs. She dived between two of the dogs and ran toward the distant green.
    There was a growl of triumph behind her, and she heard the crunch of paws on snow.
    The green didn’t seem to be getting nearer.
    She heard yells from the pictsies and a snarl that turned into a wail, but there was something behind her as she jumped over the last of the snow and rolled on the warm turf.
    A grimhound leaped after her. She jerked herself away as it snapped, but it was already in trouble.
    No eyes of fire, no teeth of razors. Not here, not in the real world, on the home turf. It was blind here and blood was already dripping from its mouth. You shouldn’t jump with a mouthful of razors….
    Tiffany almost felt sorry for it as it whined in pain, but the snow was creeping toward her and she hit the dog with the frying pan. It went down heavily and lay still.
    There was a fight going on back in the snow, which was flying up like a mist, but she could see two dark shapes in the middle, spinning around and snapping.
    She banged on the pan and shouted, and a grimhound sprang from the whirling snow and landed in front of her, a Feegle hanging from each ear.
    The snow flowed toward Tiffany. She backed away, watching the advancing, snarling dog. She held the pan like a bat.
    “Come on,” she whispered. “Jump!”
    The eyes flamed at her, and then