"You little brat," screeched the pear shaped man in a rather effeminate way, "I need that!"
"You don't need," Mixxy answered, ducking under a curtain of ivy that hung in the door to the fort. Her tiny frame easily avoided the man's desperate snatches. "You want. It's different!"
"You don't understand," he wailed. His hands slammed into the ivy, stopping short - as if the ivy was a wall and not a curtain. He pounded his fists against the plants behind which Mixxy was taking refuge, the glowing white butterfly cupped safely in her hands. "What is this? This isn't fair! Come back out here."
"What a baby," she said to her insect friend, peeking carefully between the ropes of green.
"Mr. Trade!" The man had turned away, exposing more rips and tears in the quality material of his suit, and screamed into the darkness. "Jack. I need help!"
"You cannot be serious," said a new, lower voice. It made Mixxy flinch and pull the butterfly closer to her chest protectively - it was a bad voice. "It is but a child."
"I can't reach her. She's gone into that shabby pile of sticks. It won't let me in."
"Go away or I'll get a bear to eat you, and your hat," Mixxy threatened, keeping herself out of view even as she tried to see who the other person was that the crazy suit-man was talking to. Jack's voice came from all directions, so even the nature-prone Mixxy couldn't locate where the owner was.
"Why you little--"
"Calm, calm," said Mr. Trade. The sound of crunching leaves reached Mixxy, but she couldn't see where they were being crushed. "It is quite simple, we flush her out."
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