Daughters,

We sang that night, aglow in white, and this is what we sang:

Out in the woods, out in the water

Take us down to the ghosts of our daughters

Sticks and stones leading lambs to the slaughter

And as I, suspended in this place and time, look back on that moment, the moment we first met, I weep dust from an empty head. Their fright, which I recall so well—it moves me. Fear of us, fear of what was behind, and fear of discovery. The web of disquietude woven by fear winds its quivering threads through tree and fern, hollows out each resisting knot, and wraps all within its sticky filaments. Any touch upon a taut string is a touch upon all, the collective. And any caught within must relinquish hope.

They were our lambs, weren't they? And we needed them. I need them, now. If I wish to see you again, my darlings, I need the lambs. My only hope is in this: they couldn't escape then, and they shan't escape, if they return.

~ the woman in the woods

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Her sleep was troubled. Surely it was in part due to wondering where Peter was, what he was doing, whether he was safe with these people, but there was also a strange sensation that something sat atop her chest as she slept on her back, pushed against her ribs and into her lungs, hindering her ability to breathe. She wandered through those strange timeless moments of uncertainty and contention, wakefulness at odds with restlessness, suffering through feelings of choking and gasping for breath only to wake at last to daylight and no indication that her nightmares had been based in reality.

She'd practically fallen off her bed but had become tangled in the quilt, which had ended up saving her from the floor.

Someone was knocking.

Minn rapidly shimmied into her jeans and pulled a t-shirt over her head, then opened the door, sure Peter was on the other side of it, but instead she found the beautiful woman who'd taken her hand and guided her to supper the previous night.

"I am Sister Opal," the woman smiled. "I'm to bring you to morning gathering."

Catching sight of the outside over the woman's shoulders, Minn's heart sank. The fog was thick enough that she couldn't make out more than the huts immediately near her. She hoped the weather wouldn't hinder her and Peter's chances at finding their way back to the modern world—but she was reassured by the doubtless knowledge of these villagers. They'd been living out here for decades, according to Dorothea; no doubt they'd have enough expertise to set her and Peter on the right path, even if they were unwilling to take them all the way to Asheville.

"Nice to meet you, Opal. Now listen. I want to see my son. Take me to him, all right?"

The woman seemed to realize Minn wasn't quite paying attention to her. She suddenly reached out and with the tips of her fingers took hold of Minn's pointed chin. "Sister," she insisted, drawing their faces too close for comfort, "I'm to bring you to morning gathering."

Minn shoved the woman's hand away from her and backed up a step or two. "I'm not your sister." She sized Opal up. The woman was probably young, maybe mid-twenties, and she was naturally quite beautiful, with flowing chocolate-brown hair and a narrow, almost elven face. Her shape, even beneath the unflattering dress, rose and fell in the right places. Minn softened, knowing it did no good to offend anyone as long as she needed their help. "I'm sorry," she added. "I didn't sleep well. Just . . . just nightmares and everything." She smoothed some of the wrinkles in her t-shirt. "Will my son be at this morning gathering?"

Opal's smile had frozen into something altogether unsettling the moment she'd snatched Minn's face, and it hadn't shifted since. "To be sure," she replied, cocking her head to one side. "I advise you to clear your body of its corruption before you join me."

"Clear my—?" Did Opal mean some sort of prayers? "I'm not a particularly religious person. I wouldn't know how to—"

"Oh, no, sister. You have a pail for the purpose of clearing yourself. And I've brought you fresh water as well, to wash and drink." Opal indicated a bucket at her feet, which she reached to pick up.

It occurred to Minn that the woman was telling her to go to the bathroom, and she reddened in spite of herself. Minn wasn't typically one to feel shy about bodily functions, but Opal's odd wording, and the fact that she was being spoken to as if she were stupid . . . Fine. If clearing her body of corruption meant getting to Peter faster, she'd do it. The sooner she found him, the sooner they could get out of there. She allowed Opal to bring in the water and then shut herself back into her dwelling, pulled the short curtains and attended to what business was necessary. When she was ready to leave, she felt it necessary to ask her putative chaperone where she should empty her used water and pail, but Opal only brushed aside the question with a comment that implied "waste care" was someone else's job. Minn pitied whichever of them had ended up with that gross work but didn't allow her embarrassment about all of it to cloud her thoughts, and the moment they were away from her little house, she was consumed once again with finding her son.

Back to the round tower they went, although now (to Minn's relief) there was none of the singing or squeezing. In fact, it seemed as though they were running a little behind, as only a few people were headed in their direction and Opal kept a brisk pace. At least she hadn't taken Minn's hand this time, either. Minn's feelings toward this woman were discomfiting; she couldn't quite sort them.

No matter. They'd be out of there soon enough.

The hall was put back into its pews inside, and rather than a shared meal, there were baskets of bread and steaming pots of something like oatmeal set up at the ends of each aisle. Minn and Opal joined a line of women and waited their turn at breakfast. Minn was distracted once again, attempting to see through the crowds and across the way to locate Peter, and her anxiety crept higher with each passing minute. When she reached the food, a server handed her a wooden bowl and slopped a scoop of mush into it then handed her a roll and looked toward the next hungry person. Minn didn't know what else to do but follow Opal to a bench and take a seat. Someone came and offered her a glass of water, which she thirstily gulped down, and then she did what those around her were doing: she ate. But the whole time, she watched for Peter.

Dorothea rose at the center of the room and offered some sort of speech about being thankful for food and asking for blessings on the day's work—Minn didn't have the brain capacity to pay attention. She knew only the growing desperation of finding Peter and getting out of there. Everyone just seemed far too content while she sat there in disquietude, and after she'd forced herself to take a bite of oatmeal only to gag and set it back down, Minn did what she felt she had to and got up from her seat. Opal said something to her, but Minn didn't care. She climbed over and around the other women sitting in her pew in order to get out of it and was happy that none of them tried to stop her. This wasn't a prison, after all—she had the freedom to move about, didn't she? They'd discouraged her yesterday, but what reason could they have to discourage her, now? She was going to go home. She needed to get to it as quickly as possible.

The white-haired woman who seemed to be in charge of the place had left the dais and wandered down an aisle toward the open doorway, and she was conversing with a pair of old men, both bald on top but growing long the hair lower down on their scalps, so that they looked like some medieval tonsured monks with mullets. Minn felt inordinately awkward approaching, as if she were a child interrupting an adult conversation, and she scolded herself inwardly for being so damned self-conscious around these people. Dorothea ignored her for a few seconds but thankfully, at length, informed the two men they'd continue their conversation later and half-turned to meet Minn.

Attempting to look gracious, Minn forced a smile. "Dorothea, I hope I'm not imposing, but I'm sure you're ready to get me and my son off your hands. Thank you so much for your kindness, but if you could help us find our way back—or at least just point us in the right direction . . . I'd like to get going right away. You know," she hastened to add, pointing toward the outdoors and hoping not to sound too eager, "we'll need all the daylight we can get."

The elder woman, as amiable as ever, softened her eyes, took Minn's hands in her own. "Little swimmer, have you seen the fog? It's heavier today than it was yesterday. We would be as lost as you in this gloom."

It wasn't what Minn wanted to hear, though she wasn't surprised to hear it. "I have a compass, though, and if you just give me a general idea—"

"I'd not let you risk it, Sister Minnow. Not for all the world. You'd get more lost than ever, and then where would you be but subject to the wilderness, without anyone else to aid you. No, no. You're fortunate to have found us, for there's none else like us for miles, and the wood can be a formidable foe. There're more than critters in those trees."

Minn did not want to argue with the woman, and yet she knew she couldn't stay in this place, endure the increasing unease that had taken root within. "Respectfully, Dorothea," she tried, refusing to refer to the woman as sister, "Peter and I are determined to try our luck. Where is he?" Minn was telling herself at that moment that if they wouldn't take her to her son, she'd give in to the fermenting hysteria she'd hitherto been able to hold at bay and just start screaming at all of these weirdos, but to her absolute relief and joy, a familiar voice behind her spoke her name and she spun to find Peter across the threshold, he in the gray daylight and she in the candlelit gloom of the building.

He stood with three other young men at his sides, and for a fleeting second, Minn almost didn't recognize her boy amongst the others. Peter wore the same garb as they, bland brown pants and white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His feet were, thankfully, not bare like those of the others; he still wore his boots. And there were other signs he was still himself—that glint of silver beneath his nostrils and the other smaller studs in his ears. Also, he could never resemble those odd men with his hair; Peter's inch of crop was far too short to blend in with the sleek or tumultuous waterfalls hanging down the others' backs, and its bleached coloration was unique amongst the natural hues.

Still, the woman was unsettled at his choice to wear their clothes, perhaps more deeply unsettled than she had reason to be. She eyed the other young men up and down, though they averted their gazes. Two of them were strikingly similar; Hank had said he had twins, hadn't he? The boys were sullen-faced and paler than anything, their hair blond as wheat. The third young man was darker, nearly-black curls across his shoulders, his eyebrows thick as caterpillars. But none of them looked at Minn, and she herself had attention only for her son.

Choosing to ignore his attire, she said, "We're leaving, Peter. Get your things."

His smile fell, likely due to the woman's seriousness. "Yeah, all right. Of course. Just let me get my pack."

"I'll come with you," she insisted.

A small crowd had gathered around them for reasons Minn could only assume were due to their incongruence with the whole village and her decision to neglect Dorothea's advice. One of the pale twins spoke, his voice pinched. "Women aren't meant in the men's homes."

Minn wasn't having it. "Well, then I'll wait outside." She stepped forward and linked her arm through Peter's, paying little attention to the way his companions backed away as if she were carrying some contagion.

Within twenty minutes, Peter had found his hut, she'd persuaded him to return to his former clothing, and they'd managed to make their way uninterrupted to the edge of the village. No one spoke to them or attempted to dissuade them, but everyone followed them at a distance, watched as the two outsiders moved across the grass through the mist and crossed their log partition. Even as Minn and Peter disappeared into the dark wood, she couldn't bring herself to shout a thank-you; her relief was too intense to allow for any other feeling.