Marc swung around, but there was nothing and no one behind him ... nothing, that is, except one of the strange trees. Curiously alone and aloof, it was the only tree on the little hill. Getting to his feet, Marc moved warily toward it. Then he stopped short as he noticed an odd fluttering motion in its foliage. Then, all at once, there was a flash of red along one of the branches, and he wondered if it were afire. He drew closer, then stopped again. What he was really looking at was a mop of agitated red hair. A hand suddenly appeared and brushed the hair aside, and two green eyes, wide with aggravation, glinted down at him.
Marc recognized them at once. "Toffee!" he exclaimed.
"Miss Toffee to you, mushhead," the girl replied hotly. "I shouldn't think you'd have the brass to show your sniveling face around here after the way you've treated me. A crime, that's what it is!"
"What are you doing up there?" Marc asked noncommitally.
"I'm falling out," Toffee snapped. "Right now, I'm just barely dangling by my toes. But in a second I'm going to let go, and if you know what's good for you, you'll catch me. I lost my balance chucking that apple at you."
"Serves you right," Marc said. He stepped forward, under the tree, and looked up. It was true. Toffee was dangling precariously between two branches. Her foot acting as a grappling hook on one branch, her hand grasping the other, she looked like nothing so much as a shapely pink hammock. Her transparent tunic, always an aloof bystander at best, was hanging loosely to one side, unconcerned that its wearer was left shockingly exposed. Marc quickly averted his eyes and held out his arms.
"Okay!" he called. "Let go!"
Toffee came down promptly and heavily, her sudden weight rocking Marc back on his heels. For a moment it was touch and go between the staggering man and the forces of gravity. But Marc finally won out and righted himself. Then, looking down, he discovered, to his horror, that Toffee had landed face-down in his arms. Obviously, certain adjustments needed to be made immediately. With a timid hand, Marc tried to do what he could about them.
"Stop pawing me, you wrinkled adolescent!" Toffee yelled. "Put me down!"
And with that, she sank two talon-like fingernails into the flesh of Marc's thigh. Marc's trousers might just as well have been made of tissue for all the protection they afforded him against the cutting nails.