The little girl awoke to cold, heavy rain falling that had soaked her to the bone. Propping herself up on her hands, it took her a second to recall where she was and what had happened. Upon seeing the many slashes on her hands and arms, everything came rushing back to her like a tsunami.

Anxiously looking around, the little girl shouted out, “Sooty? Sooty? Where are you?” worried, as she was, about what the large crows may have done to her little friend.

Weakened and exhausted, the little girl got to her feet as quickly as she was able to and began to look for the tiny crow, as she repeatedly called out his name.

As her anxiety grew, she saw no sign of the little bird and was beginning to think the worst had happened when out from amidst the dark emerald brush came the hopping raven figure of Sooty.

A feeling of pure delight washed over her in a massive wave, as she scooped her friend up into her arms and held it to her face.

“Oh, Sooty. I thought they had hurt you! I was so worried!”

The little girl placed her tiny friend in her pocket, her anxiety ebbing slightly. Turning her mind to her failed task, she looked around for her spade and bag, only to find the latter torn and empty of the skull she had worked so hard to get.

She wondered about and dreaded the Doll-Maker's reaction upon learning of that night's events and of the loss of the skull. Gathering her things, the little girl picked up what was left of what she believed was the old map, now just a sodden, squelchy clump of material.

The little girl felt some relief knowing she wasn't far enough away from the Doll-Maker's workshop that she needed the map to find her way back. With a mind full of dizzying thoughts and a body torn, shredded, and bleeding, the little girl, with her feathered companion in her pocket, turned and began her journey back, as the cold curtain of heavy rain mercilessly fell on her.

The little girl walked back through the village, no longer concerned whether its inhabitants saw her. The muddy streets were deserted but for a couple of villagers hurriedly walking past, giving looks of contempt and abhorrence at the sight of her.

Reaching Midnight Forest, the little girl was thankful for the canopy the trees occasionally provided as shelter from the beating rain as she trundled back to the workshop. Happier than she ever thought she could be to lay her eyes upon the Doll-Maker's working home, the little girl used the very last of her strength as she limped slowly up to the door and weakly knocked on it.

As soon as she did, the tiny black bird silently and discreetly hopped out of her pocket and vanished into the night. Moments later, the Doll-Maker opened the door to see the blood-soaked little girl barely standing, as the wounds upon her torn body continued to bleed.

“Good evening, my dear. Come in.” He spoke in a jovial way. “Did you have a lovely first adventure skull-collecting?'”

Barely able to move, the little girl leaned against the frame of the door as her legs began to give way.

“Oh, not there, my dear. You'll dirty the paint. Come in, come in. Tell me of your journey,” insisted the Doll-Maker as he lay a very large, gray, paint-stained sheet he had acquired from behind his desk down on the floor in front her.

As the little girl weakly placed foot in front of foot in front of foot, the Doll-Maker lightly grabbed her shoulders and positioned her in the middle of the sheet.

“There. So, how did it go, dear? How many skulls did you manage to bring me?” he asked, animatedly looking around for a canvas bag full of skulls. His eyes resting on some torn, blood-soaked material by the door, he hurriedly walked over to it and examined its contents. All at once, his eyes opened up as far as they could go and his jaw dropped slightly upon the realization that what he held was, in fact, the canvas bag he had entrusted the little girl with and, moreover, that is was empty.

“What—What's this?” the Doll-Maker agitatedly asked, as he sharply turned his head to face the swaying little girl. “What happened to my bag, and where are all the skulls!?”

Very swiftly, the Doll-Maker dashed toward the girl and stood in front of her, his eyes as round and full as the moon above.

“Answer me this instant!”

Barely able to stand, let alone speak, the little girl tried her hardest to internally forms words into sentences that would convey what had happened that awful night; she found, however, that, her strength all but depleted, she could only manage to utter but a few, detached words.“...Crows...Took it...Violin...Sorry...” Then she had no choice but to allow her body to crumple down onto the sheet-covered floor.

The Doll-Maker's expression changed at once at the mention of the musical instrument, and he quietly said to himself, “...So he is here,” as he knelt down to pick up the little girl. Standing back up with her in his arms, he carried her over to her bed, quietly lost in thought, and gently placed her down on the straw, covering her with the dirty bed sheet.

Watching the little girl but still lost somewhere in his mind, the Doll-Maker said, “Blasted thieving crows... I'll get them, somehow...”

As he walked away, she caught the last muttering words the Doll-Maker spoke before she passed out.

“...Never heard of something as stupid as building a throne atop a mound of skulls...”

***

The following day, the little girl awoke to the light shakes of the Doll-Maker.

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“Wake up, dear. You've slept enough.”

Slowly easing her eyes open and blinking, the first thing she saw was the pointy, sharp face of the Doll-Maker as he knelt opposite her. His cold, silver eyes and half-moon glasses, which rested on his sharp nose, gave him a very stern look, she thought.

“Get up. You have work to do,” he stated, as he got back up and walked away to his desk.

As the little girl rubbed her eyes, she suddenly noticed her wounds and cuts had all been bandaged up. They, like her dress, however, were mostly ruddy with blood.

“You are going back out tonight, so you must sew the bag you allowed to fall into the talons of those infernal birds,” continued the Doll-Maker, as he showed the little girl the long needle and thread he had placed on his desk for her. “You will also continue with your chores, as per usual, so you will have to work faster to make up for the lost time you spend sewing.”

Her heart aching at the thought of all the work she had to do despite her battered body, the little girl's nostrils, filled with the potent, putrid scent of Elepine root tea, wished for nothing more than to taste its sweet, revitalising flavor on her tongue.

“Please, sir,” she said cautiously, “may I have some tea?”

For a moment, the Doll-Maker regarded her in silence, as if assimilating her words, then sharply replied, “You will have some when all the chores are completed. For your sake, I suggest you do so, as it will help you on your journey tonight. Now, on your feet. After you sew my bag, you will start with the kitchen then the garden. After that, you will make me my lunch and clean the windows and floors in here. Do you understand?”

Her heart sinking further under the weight of the Doll-Maker's words, the little girl answered, “I do, sir,” as she tried to get the taste of the elepine root tea out of her mind.

As instructed, she got to her feet and walked over to the desk, picking up the needle and thread before returning to the pile of straw that made up her bed.

“Have you ever sewn before?” enquired the Doll-Maker, as he continued to watch her with his cold, gray eyes.

Her mind trying to decipher how to use the objects she held to repair the torn bag, the little girl replied simply, “No, sir.”

“Then this is the perfect time to learn, my dear,” concluded the Doll-Maker, venomous wit dripping from his icy tongue.

The little girl replied, “Yes, sir,” only partially listening to him, as she continued to work out how to use the string and pointy needle in her hands.

As the Doll-Maker continued to watch the little girl repeatedly fumble and fail to use the needle and thread properly, his patience rapidly declined and gave way to urgent impatience.

Letting out a loud sigh of exasperation, he rushed over and at once snatched the needle and thread from her, saying, “Oh, give me that! Honestly, it's like watching a monkey try to read.”

The Doll-Maker began to show the little girl how to effectively sew, for which she was quietly grateful.

“You see? And you thread the needle through here, like this...I hope you're paying attention. You will be doing this soon,” he warned.

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

So intently focused on the task was he, however, that, without realizing it, the Doll-Maker had sewn up the entire bag himself.

As what he had done dawned on him, he sharply looked at the little girl.

“Yes, well, don't think I did it for you, my dear. Next time, should there be one, you will not be so lucky.” He stood back up. “Now, get to the kitchen. You have gained extra time, so you'd better make sure it is spotless, or you will see a far nastier side of me, my dear,” he threatened and returned to his work.

Thanking him once again, the little girl walked out of the workshop into yet another dreary, gray, windy day, suddenly noticing her little friend was no longer in her pocket. As though the tiny bird might be hiding in a corner she had yet to check, she dove her hand inside it, checking every inch, as she began to anxiously wonder whether the Doll-Maker had taken him.

But surely, she told herself, if he had done so then he most likely would have taken delight in so telling her, would he not? Perhaps, then, the little bird had fled in the night, needing nourishment and flight. Yes, the little girl was certain of it. Her raven-feathered friend would return to her any minute, his belly full and his wings feeling stronger for the exercise. With that thought, she headed to the skewed shack that served as the kitchen.

Forcibly opening the door, the little girl looked around to see what needed to be done. Reaching in the cupboard under the sink, she picked up a dirty cloth and, moistening it, began wiping the muddy window.

Moments after she had begun, the tiny crow jumped up on the window sill outside and turned its head to look at the little girl with its vibrant blue eye. Forgetting her woes in a flash, she dashed outside and grabbed the black bird who, once again, allowed her to do so. Then she ran back inside the kitchen, lest the Doll-Maker cast his eyes upon her friend. Knowing, as she did, that he didn't like crows, she did not know what he would try to do to it; nor did she want to find out.

Back inside, the little girl placed her friend down on the counter and said, “Oh, Sooty, you're back! I knew you would, I did! You left because you needed to eat, didn't you?”

“Caw,” replied Sooty.

“Oh, I knew you had! You must have been so hungry! I'm sorry I didn't think to give you anything to eat before tonight. I'll take some food for you to eat with me. Don't worry, Sooty, you won't be hungry again,” promised the little girl as she stroked the smooth, raven feathers atop the tiny bird's head. He just continued to gaze at her with his blue eye.

“Oh, you will come with me tonight, won't you? Won't you, Sooty?”

“Caw,” exclaimed the little bird, unblinkingly.

“Oh, thank you ever so much. I really don't know if I could do it without you, Sooty,” she said, suddenly feeling very grateful to her friend.

The little girl danced and sang while she cleaned, occasionally picking up the tiny bird with both hands and, twirling around the kitchen with him, feeling thankful he was her friend.

When the kitchen was as clean and sparkling as it possibly could be, Sooty jumped into the little girl's pocket as they headed out to the garden to pull weeds. She was careful not to outwardly show her current exuberance, lest the Doll-Maker double her tasks.

By the time she had finished de-weeding the garden, her back felt like it would snap clean in half, throbbing and pounding. Despite this, she had had a lovely time with her avian friend, stroking his tiny head, as he kept her company.

Struggling to stand straight, the little girl returned to the kitchen to get the cutlery and plates to place at the table, as the smell of the stew she had begun to cook earlier indicated it was ready.

Setting the plates down, she turned the knob to open the workshop door and, as she did so, the tiny crow once again hastily hopped out of her pocket and scurried away into Midnight Forest.

This time, the little girl felt Sooty shake himself out of her pocket but was unable to stop him as she looked on.

“Oh, Sooty...” she whispered, disappointed. The little girl told herself, however, that no matter where he had gone, he would be back again soon. With that in mind, she picked up the plates and turned to enter the workshop.