For the most part, they all escape the cabin.

"You're just going to leave me here alone?" Tim asks, staring up at Ivy as she puts on the ugliest pair of shoes she has ever seen.

"It is you who is leaving me alone," she corrects him. "I said you could come if you didn't speak to any of the locals."

Tim doesn't appreciate that answer, because of course, he isn't going to go follow her silently through the town. Besides, if Ivy dies while he isn't here, he is sure that that Mickey guy will strangle the life out of him.

"We shouldn't leave Ivy behind," Tim points out.

Flo furrows her brow. She puts her hands over her hips, tapping her immaculate nails against the rough fabric of the skirt. "And what, pray tell, will you do if she dies of drowning? Are you a doctor?"

Tim frowns. "No."

"Alright, then," she smiles. Flo knows enough about men to know that a simple wink is enough. She heads to the door and holds it open for the both of them.

Though Tim sighs, he heads after her.

After ducking through the trees, they find themselves staring down the rest of the valley. Flo is the first to step towards the houses, deciding to head deeper into the village.

Unfortunately for Tim, he follows after. He notices the pattern to her steps. Each foot moving certainly, her hips swishing from side to side. Her dark blue dress reminds him of the strangling hold of waves, crashing above him.

"Do you think this is a dream?" Tim asks, trying to catch up to her.

Flo stifles a laugh, but it seeps out of her. She is a sponge fiddle with giggles. "Have you ever had a dream like this, darling?"

"Then are we dead?" Tim asks, hurrying up next to her, still not convinced that she isn't a figment of his imagination. It crosses his mind that if this were in his head, Flo would be curvier, and would be falling at his feet.

"This is much too boring to be Heaven, much too painless to be Hell, and much too exciting to be any sort of purgatory," Flo sighs.

She sees a woman working on a field. Unlike her dress, that of the woman's is a faded brown, undoubtedly from wearing it day after day. It seems that, like Flo, whoever left them clothing put a great deal into making it vibrant. Flo knows how hard a colourful dye was to find in the new world. She realizes that she should be grateful.

After all, someone left them a gift. Though it wasn't nice, it was the best that they could do.

"Bonjour!" Flo calls out to the woman, offering her the most delicate of waves.

The woman looks up at her and drops her basket on to the ground. She scurries backwards, running up to the house. The stranger shouts out a string of words in one thick jumble, and Flo is so caught in the flurry that she only grasps one word.

Diable.

~~~

Mickey didn't want to stray too far, since he is the only one with some medical knowledge. So instead, he sits down by the lighthouse at the edge of the town, so if someone from the valley calls his name, he knows to run. It's only two minutes back, anyway.

"You fought in the war, then?" Adwin asks, looking over at Mickey. Though he does not know of the war to come, he was a child during the one before it. Thankfully, he was able to slip away from Germany at 18, just before the Great Depression hit. Actually, he imagines Mickey to only be a couple of years older than him.

Those simple words make Mickey grit his teeth together and ball his fist at his side. He leans into Adwin, until there are only inches between their noses. "You know about the war, then?"

"I don't know how much I should share," Adwin admits, looking at Mickey. He can see a scar that runs along Mickey's neck. Adwin tries to lean back, but Mickey leans forward.

"I'd rather share nothing," even if it weren't Adwin, Mickey wouldn't want to share anything. It's easier to forget than one might imagine. Memories are predictably routine, like a cuckoo clock, but they are easy to be surprised by all the same.

Finally, though, Mickey pulls back.

"I'm a teacher in America," Adwin swallows. He isn't very used to quiet, and other than the ocean below, the moment is silent. "I have always liked history, you know? I try my best, but I don't know much about Canada. You speak French?"

"Some," once again, Mickey is reminded of his days in France, where he was deployed the majority of the time. If Adwin didn't seem so polite, he would grab him by the collar and pin him against the lighthouse, for all to see. "Mostly directions and basic kindness."

"I've never been," Adwin decides that Mickey is like a difficult student. Sure, Mickey could definitely kill him with ease, but he wouldn't. Right? "Knowing two languages is hard enough."

Mickey's chest tightens, but he shrugs. Perhaps this is the worst possible selection for him. Sure, Mickey has gotten into his fair share of arguments and bar fights, but it's rare that he finds himself quite so easily put off by someone. "Didn't Germany have conscription? Weren't you there."

Adwin is forced to think about the word, and digest it at least three times before he remembers the meaning. "Oh, no I was only a kid during the war. I left shortly after."

"Lucky you didn't leave before the war and go back," Mickey jokes. He pats his pocket, remembering that he doesn't have a flask on him. If he is going to get through this mess, he is going to need to get his hands on whisky, and soon.

Adwin's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

"Wait," Mickey stands up, trying to size up Adwin. It isn't often that he has to use deduction over his hands, so he finds himself blinking back memories. "You don't know, do you?"

The only response Adwin can give, is blink. If there is something that Mickey knows about Germany's history, then Mickey is from the future. Mickey fought in a different war. There is going to be another war, and Adwin can't help his family. Worst of all, if he tries, he will alter the course of history forever.

As he looks at Adwin, Mickey feels a numbness in his hands. It spreads to his lips to his chest and then up into his face. He feels as though his body exists through a fog. "Something is wrong."

~~~

When Maverick follows Alvaro through the trees, he can't help but stare at the back of the boy's curly hair. God, Maverick hasn't felt like this in years. At least, he has tried to ignore the allure of men's cologne and short hair. He tries to let himself believe that Alvaro is more feminine than any other man he has ever encountered, with his gold chain necklace and silver earrings.

The chest hair, however, cannot be explained.

Alvaro turns around, and Maverick stops walking. Maverick's face burns bright red.

For the first time, perhaps ever, Alvaro feels like there is something between his teeth. He runs a hand through his hair, spreading the already messy wet curls. "Where are we going?"

Neither of them has made it particularly far. Here, the trees barely have space for them to duck between their long branches. The pine trees stab them, and they seem to be everywhere.

"I don't know," Maverick swallows.

The two of them stand and face each other for a few seconds too long.

When Alvaro takes a step closer, Maverick side-steps around him. Alvaro closes his eyes and lets himself take a deep breath. He is no stranger to the way gay people were treated in Maverick's time, and while he suspects that Maverick's heart is thundering too, Alvaro can't be sure.

He is lucky, no matter how you put it. He is lucky that he managed not to die in that altercation earlier today. Or perhaps, he was murdered. If he is, in fact, dead, and these moments are the delusions of a dying man, Alvaro is happy that his brain created someone with such a strong jawline and eyes, but such a smooth voice.

"Are you coming?" Maverick calls over his shoulder. He decides that he doesn't love the woods. He can feel his chest tightening.

Alvaro is about to nod, looking down to the ground, when he spots it.

Three sets of footprints in the mud, but there are only two of them.

~~~

The pair, Bev and Clara, discovered that the forest wraps around back to the beach, which means that the farther they move from town, the closer they get to sea level. As they walk, Clara worries about her feet tripping over roots and sending her flying to the ground.

"You don't get these kinds of forest where I live," Bev grins, looking over at Clara. "I'm from a port town in Virginia."

Clara furrows her brow. "I live in Virginia."

"Well, that is certainly something special, is it not?" Bev laughs, moving downwards. Perhaps that is why she is so drawn to Clara.

Clara isn't so sure. While the others seem to have spread around time and space, to a vast number of places, she is stuck in the middle. Only a few years off of Maverick, only a few towns away from Bev.

"You know, I had always considered being a pirate," Bev smiles at the memory of her as a young child, running through the town with a stick in her hand. The swashbuckling child could not be held down, and neither can Bev.

Clara smiles, though her mind is still hidden between the leaves of the trees. "I love to read about piracy. Now, I don't know that I could manage to live on a boat. I would not like scurvy."

Now, Bev decides with the quickest of giggles, she could really get used to Clara's company. After all, Clara lets Bev lead the two wherever her heart calls them. So far, it's deeper and deeper into the forest.

Bev puts her hand on a tree to help her step over a log and feels her hand push through the trunk. She quickly pulls it away and wipes a black ooze on her dress. It's thick, only a bit thinner than raw dough, and it is as dark as ink. It immediately seeps through her apron onto her dress, and she swears she can feel it's cold touch against her thigh.

"What is that?" Clara asks, approaching behind Bev. She takes a finger and wipes at the tree, rubbing the thick black liquid between her fingers. "Is it rot?"

"Must be," Bev sighs, looking at her already sullied apron. It seems that her plans have been spoiled, if only slightly.

It makes Clara's stomach do somersaults. She decides that the woods is not the place for her.

"We should head back," Clara decides, turning to Bev.

"But we've only gotten started," Bev pouts, her upper lip protruding. She only stops when she realizes that Clara is looking deeper into the woods. With a sigh, she speaks. "Fine, but just this once."

~~~

Hubert arrives back at the cabin. The door creaks open, and on the other side, he does not hear voices. He leads the priest inside, showing her Ivy on the bed. As the man passes him by, Hubert spins in a circle and peers at the lack of others.

Shit.

Since Ivy is still here, he is sure he didn't think them all into existence. Maybe he is going crazy. Every day without Élise is a day closer to the grave, he thinks. At least he is sure that he hasn't imagined them. Nothing he would dream to give him solace would abandon him quite so quickly.

"They've gone," he tells the Priest.

"Permanently?" The priest asks back, not looking up from Ivy. The ginger beneath him stirs at his touch, sweat pooling on her forehead. The sheets are already yellowing from her presence.

"Possibly," he scratches the back of his neck and bites his tongue. Their burden falls on his shoulders. "They seem like the type to wander."

The priest pulls away from Ivy to look back at Hubert. "Let's hope they went to the water, and not the woods or town."

Hubert is almost certain that they would have wandered into the woods. He glances at Ivy, at the grimace on sleeping face, then back at the priest. "It's the Grip, isn't it?"

The priest nods.

~~~~~

And I updated. I'm not as ahead in this book as I would like to be, but I'm far enough ahead that I am functioning. I can't wait to be done some of my other books so that I can update twice a week for one book instead of for four. 

Anyway, enough about me, let me know if I am nailing your characters. I'm finding dialogue to be quite the challenge, so I am open to discussing my failures and my strengths and it all. Thank you for reading!