The well lay at the bottom of the garden, hidden by grass. It sat on the border between their house and the vast wood that lay beyond it. Mummy always told her the well was dangerous and not to play near it in case something happened, but Abby never paid much attention; the well was too interesting to avoid.

Besides, she had a pixie to protect her.

Abby met it one long evening in June. The pixie had trapped its leg under a pebble and couldn’t move, and she’d helped it recover. Since then, they’d been the best of friends.

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