A.N. Hey all! So, Cornelia Funke herself gave this prompt. Surely, you must have read this section of Inkspell and wonder where the story came from:

"Now, where have you been…did you turn yourself into a tree for a while, as some songs say, a tree with burning branches deep in the Wayless Woods?"—Black Prince, Inkspell

"Please, Baptista," the small child begged. Slowly, more and more children began to gather around the mask-maker and story teller, each begging for the same story. Baptista sighed. It had been almost three years since Dustfinger had vanished. Stories about the reasons for his disappearance were spreading all over the country—captured by Fire-Raisers, killed by the Adderhead, or lost in one of his many wandering adventures. But the children… well, the children who Dustfinger had so often entertained were almost frantic. As each new story of death and destruction came, the children grew more fearful. And so Baptista had created a new story just for them.

He sighed as he settled down, the children crowding around him in hopeful anticipation. "It happened three years ago," he began. "Dustfinger left his home, with his wife and children, because no man can tie down a member of the Motley Folk…"

The air was crisp and fresh, and Dustfinger felt truly alive. He roamed carefree through the wilds of the forest and up to the edges of the mountains. He travelled wherever he chose, for all creatures of the wild knew and know Dustfinger's tread, and they great him as one of their own. But Dustfinger grew careless in his wanderings, and strayed into the realm of Argenta, where the Adderhead reigns. The Adderhead had heard of the hope that Dustfinger inspires—hope as bright as the flames that he wields. And the Adderhead grew determined to capture Dustfinger, and extinguish the spark of hope that lays in all hearts forever.

The Adderhead sent out the best of his men—a hundred soldiers, with hearts as black as the night and knives as sharp as flint. They tracked the fire-dancer, but a fairy took pity on him, and warned him of his pursuers. So Dustfinger ran, and the Adderhead's men chased. Dustfinger ran through the villages and the towns. He called and pleaded, begging for help from the villagers that he found there. But the men with their sharp swords and large horses frightened the villagers, and they locked the doors, leaving the fire-dancer to his fate. And wherever Dustfinger fled, the villagers turned him away, and the men kept coming. So Dustfinger fled to the only refuge available open to him—the forest.

Now if it were any other man who the Adderhead was pursuing, this would be the end of the story. He would be caught, or would die in the forest, and that would be that. But Dustfinger is still cared for greatly by the creatures of the forest, who would never allow harm to come to him. As the Adderhead's men closed in on Dustfinger, the fire elves and the fairies made a truce (as they will do in times of great danger). Before the sight of the astonished soldiers, fairy dust and elf-fire surrounded him in waves of blue and red. Before their eyes, the fire-dancer was turned into a tree—a wild tree, with leaves of fire. And yet as he burned there, none of the animals, nor the other trees were harmed. The soldiers returned to their master, who executed them for failing in their duties and lying to him. But slowly, through whispers and songs, the story leaked out until it reached us here.

"…And it is said," Baptista said in conclusion to his spellbound audience, "that when Dustfinger sheds his tree form, and begins to play with fire in the markets, that he will bring with him great change. An army of peasants, of the Motley Folk, of rich men and poor men—they will follow Dustfinger into Argenta, and together we will tear the Adderhead from his throne." Baptista sighed, and rose to his feet. "Now," he said firmly, "Off with you! There is work to be done, and I need to make some new masks."

As the children dashed back through Ombra, giggling with excitement over the story they had heard, Baptista found himself looking towards the Wayless Woods.

"I hope that the story is true, my old friend," he whispered. "But I will tell you now—inspiring hope in children and villagers is as hard as ever, so you'd better bring a figurehead with you. Please come back soon, Dustfinger. We're all waiting for a change…"