"Sounds fun." She mutters, glaring at him still.

He only shrugged as rain began hissing through the branches of the trees, a cold, gray rain that leeched color from everything it touched. Even Puck's bright auburn hair turned dull and colorless in the misty deluge. He'd rake his fingers through it, streaking his hair with red, only to have the rain soak through it once more, bleaching away the color. Grimalkin was nearly invisible; not even his eyes glimmered in the gloom.

Above them, the massive wall of black thorns rose into the air, tendrils creaking and curling about. Some of the thorns were longer than Claire, waving about like the spines of a sea urchin, and the whole thing bristled with eerie menace.

Even standing close to Ironhorse and the smoldering heat radiating from him wasn't enough to get the cold away. The Iron faery steamed in the rain, surrounded by writhing smoke, as water struck his hot metal skin and sizzled away. Ironhorse gazed up at the wall of thorns, craning his neck to stare at it, billowing like a small geyser in the storm.

She shivered in the cold, hugging herself as she stared at the thorns.

The wall shifted. Branches creaked and moaned as they peeled away to reveal a narrow, spiky corridor through the thorns. Mist curled out of the hallway, and the space beyond was choked in shadow. Puck crossed his arms. "Looks like we're expected." He looked down at Grimalkin, a gray ghost in the mist, calmly washing his front paws.

Grimalkin gave one paw a few more licks before standing up. Shaking himself so that water flew everywhere, he yawned, stretched and trotted forward without looking back.

He vanished into the tunnel. Puck rolled his eyes. Holding out his hand, he gave Claire an encouraging smile.

She took a deep breath before taking Pucks hand.

"Don't want to get separated in here." He curled his fingers tight around mine. "Let's go, then. Rusty can bring up the rear. That way, if we're jumped from behind, we won't lose anything important."

As they entered the tunnel, the shadows closed in on them like grasping fingers. Around them, the corridor pulsed with life, slithering, creaking, unfurling with faint hissing sounds. Whispers and strange voices drifted down the hallway, murmuring words they couldn't quite understand. As they stepped in farther, the hole behind them shut with a quiet hiss, trapping them within the Briars.

"This way," came Grimalkin's disembodied voice up ahead. "Try to stay close."

The bristly walls of the corridor seemed to press in on them. Puck didn't release her hand, but they had to walk single file through the tunnel to avoid behind scratched.

The tunnel finally opened up into a small hollow with tunnels and paths twisting off in all directions. Overhead, the canopy of bramble shut out the light, so thick you couldn't see the sky through the cracks. Bones lay here and there among the thorns, bleached white and gleaming in the darkness. A skull grinned at her from a tangle of brambles, empty eye sockets crawling with worms.

She shivered as she glanced at it, disgusted. "I already hate it here." She mumbled.

Puck chuckled quietly. "You and me both."

Grimalkin appeared out of nowhere. The cat leaped atop a large skull and regarded each of them in turn. "We are going deep into the Briars now," he stated in a calm, very soft voice. "I would tell you what we might face, but perhaps it is better that I do not. Try to be silent. Do not separate. Do not go down another path. And stay away from any doors you come across. Many of the gates here are a one-way trip; go through one and you might not be able to go back. Are you ready?"

"Nope." She mutters, glancing around.

Grimalkin blinked. "We are going anyways," he said, and vanished down one of the tunnels.

The Briars were never still. They were always moving, slithering, reaching for you out of the corner of your eye. Sometimes, if you listened just right, you could almost hear them whisper your name. Deep within the tangled darkness, twigs snapped and branches rustled as things moved through the brambles. They never got a clear look, just glimpsed dark shapes shuffling away into the undergrowth. The Briars went on, an endless maze of twisted thorns and gnarled branches, shifting, creaking and reaching out for them. As they ventured ever deeper, doors, frames and archways began appearing at odd intervals in completely random places. A faded red door hung perilously from an overhead branch, a tarnished 216 glimmering in the dim light. A filthy restroom stall, cracked and shedding green paint, stood near the edge of the path, so wrapped in thorns that it would be impossible to push the door open. Something lean and black slithered across our path and vanished through an open closet. As it creaked shut, there was a glimpse of a child's bedroom through the frame, and a crib outlined in moonlight, before thorny vines curled around the door and pulled it back into the Briars.