The Forbidden Forest Book Report

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Forbidden Forest

Sage’s grin all teeth and gums as she frolicked down Main Street sent me to my happy place—at least, for a time—until Mason shattered in the splintered reality room full of mirrors and I became ensnared inside the topsy-turvy fun house’s sapphire arena and had to eat my way through an entire wall of blue cotton candy.
Luckily, we made it out alive before we unlocked another room packed with brain-teasing trickery. I was bloated and Mason walked like he’d been chug-a-lugging the fun house happy juice.
When Zander saw us coming out of the tree, he jumped to his feet. “You’re late.”
“Sorry we got trapped in an illusion on our way to the kingdom,” Mason muttered. “So what’s up with the wolf?”
In the distance,

Mason—Hob,” Zander introduced us. “He’s one of my most trusted advisors. A force to be reckoned with really—a brilliant and deadly, nuisance of the goblin and the architect of unfathomable victories. He’ll help us with the quest.”
I flashed him a tight smile. “Right.”
“The centaurs revealed where the scepter was hidden and the path to seize it back to him . . . . a mere boy?” Mistrust shaded the wolf’s expression, and doubt, dappled with tons of suspicion. Warily he whispered something to Zander.
“Absolutely he’s Legend’s grandson. Just look at him. A kin of the seventh in the line of seven. Gift of second

Thunder crackled across the sky, lighting the forest in disorienting flashes. It started to rain.
“Hey, Mason,” I said my voice a whisper swallowed by the drumming downpour, “did you bring—?”
He shushed me. “They seem to be working on a plan.”
Zander and wolf were gathered in a tight knot of drenched fur, mumbling.
“Okay, Aiden,” Hob said finally. “You go into the woods and divert the goblin’s attention.”
“That’s the plan? How am I supposed to do that?”
“It’s not going to be hard, believe me.” He made a dismissive gesture with his paw. “You just being in the Forbidden Forest will be a diversion.
I nodded, accepting the assignment like a sentence of doom, the way condemned detainees do when they know there was no way out, no reprieve, no appeal.
“I’ll gather my pack and we’ll slip into the castle and reclaim the scepter,” Hob insisted in his no nonsense, final, irrevocable tone. “Zander you wait here with Mason. Then sneak into the woods after we’re gone.”
Mason whispered, "Why?"
Hob ignored the question and we stood there for a moment in the uncomfortable silence. The tension building, a tension with teeth wanting to nibble on my shaky nerves.
"Ready?" he finally asked