Listening to her instincts, Harley sprinted away from the mountain spring, away from the bunny-tailed grass and colorful brush, far from the meadow and the grove and the danger. She ran, guided by moonlight, following the zig-zag of the river, until exhaustion took her, and she collapsed onto the stones of the river bank with aching feet. The night wind brought a chill to her skin, but at least she didn’t hear any buzzing. She imagined a horde of dragonfly riders charging over the crest of the hill to get their revenge, and the longer she rested, the more she started to worry.

Did I run far enough away? How did Aurora even find me? I wonder if the other fairies found her yet, or if they know I’m gone. Maybe I’ll get lucky and they won’t know till morning, and by then I’ll be another five miles downstream. Tiny little devils, that’s all they are. I can’t believe I trusted them. I can’t believe I’m even here. I should be in my bed, a million miles away from this place. Why couldn’t Mom walk James and Johan to the bus stop? Why am I the one that always has to watch them? Mom should have been there. She should have stopped this from happening. This is all her fault.

Harley thought in this way for some time, her mood ranging from worry to anger to blame. The moon seemed content to wander aimlessly across the sky with no desire to end the night, and Harley let her mind wander as well. She wondered if a plane might pass by, and how she might grab its attention if it did. Then she debated aloud on the merits of helicopter or plane rescue, what she might say to the pilot and crew, and as she pondered the odds of such an occurrence, Harley huddled into a ball and dozed off into a light sleep.

Sunrise came and went and clouds crowded the sky. The dull gray morning continued the gloomy mood as Harley woke up in the same place she dozed off.

So there isn’t going to be a plane and I doubt I’ll see a helicopter. It’s just me, the rocks, and the river. I guess I’m screwed. So much for miracles.

She examined the cut on her hand; it was still scabbed and red, and now the skin by her wrist was turning color. She sighed and started walking.

The shape of the river reminded Harley of a slithering snake, its path winding back and forth as it flowed toward the valley. Each side of the river was bordered by gray stone, scattered ferns, and skinny trees, and beyond the river were meadows of tall, bushy grass that looked like swaying foxtails. Every so often she heard the chirp of a bird or the plop of a fish. The wind was constant and stifling. Her hair tossed and twirled, her stomach growled. Her mind pleaded for mercy.

“You win,” Harley announced. “I’ve learned whatever lesson it is that you’re trying to teach me.”

She wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself, or to God, or speaking to some ultra-powerful-all-knowing spirit that did this to her because of a thing that she didn’t even know she did. She was good most of the time.

“Can this be over now, please?” she asked, looking at the sky.

But there was no response. There was no sign either, not even a clearing of the clouds for a peek at the sun. She wondered what Taylor might say to her in this situation.

Hang in there, Harley!

Taylor always joked about the silly motivational quotes that hung on the wall in the school counselor’s office. She wondered if Taylor had a new best friend by now. She hoped not.

Harley came to a bend in the river where the bushy foxtail grass was especially tall and the trees blended together with the bushes. But the birds caught her attention, for there were a dozen or so, and some had red feathers with short beaks, others were yellowish with black breasts, and a few of them with gray feathers were grouped tightly on a branch. She wondered if they were watching or waiting or simply resting from the wind. Then Harley heard singing.

“One–two, three–four–five,

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“Once I caught a fish alive,

“Six–seven, eight–nine–ten,

“Once I let it go again.”

It was a familiar voice. She knew it well. It was James’ voice, singing some rhyme, and singing it in a silly way that could only be James. She ran past the bushes, leaping, jumping, searching for her brother.

“James!” she shouted.

A head peeked up from the grass. She tackled him back down.

“It’s really you!” she exclaimed.

Harley gave him a hug and wouldn’t let go. It was tight, constricting, selfish, loving.

“I thought you were dead!” said Harley, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Harley!” said James, wrapping his arms and legs around her and squealing as he pulled her closer.

The two rolled playfully in the lumpy grass, laughing and squealing, without thought, without worry.

After a few minutes, Harley sat up and examined her brother. His eyes were worn and his hair a mess. His shirt ripped, his shoes untied, and he was covered in dirt from head to toe. Still, he was alive and in good spirits, and no worse for the wear.

“Apple?” asked James as he smiled at Harley. He picked up two red apples and held one in each hand. The ground was littered with them, some eaten, some whole, and James chomped down with a big bite.

“Where’s Johan?” said Harley as she picked up an apple of her own.

“He was with you,” replied James.

“He isn’t with me. He was never with me.”

“He had to be with you. I couldn’t find you or Yoyo so I thought you were together.”

James stopped eating his apple.

Tears welled up in Harley’s eyes. It was just the two of them. Johan was still out there—by himself, alone. She wrapped her arms around James and tried to hold back from weeping.

James cried into her shoulder.

“We’ll find Yoyo,” Harley said with a comforting squeeze. She wasn’t sure if James believed her. She wasn’t sure if she believed it herself. It didn’t matter. Sometimes words needed to be said out loud, no matter how true they were or how unlikely they seemed.

The two cried and hugged and took comfort in each other, sharing what happened and where they had been. The wind interrupted their talk with a howl as the leaves turned belly up in the wild orchard. The birds had already left for cover.

Harley grabbed James by the arm and helped him up. They needed to get moving. Dark clouds were swallowing the ridge of the mountain and a storm would be on top of them soon.

“We’ll follow the river,” said Harley as she stuffed apples into her pockets. “Come on.”

“Hold on—my net is all tangled,” said James.

Harley crossed her arms. “Where’d you find that?”

“I helped kill a giant. It’s cool, right?”

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m not,” said James as he freed the net from the bush.

“OK—fine, but are you really going to carry that the whole time?” asked Harley.

“Yeah! I want to show it to Yoyo,” said James. With two hands, he grabbed the stick of the big net and heaved the thing over his shoulder. “I’m ready!”

Together they walked along the stony bank toward a grand old forest of oak and pine. Harley hoped to find a makeshift lean-to or an overhung rock, but if worse came to worst they’d take cover beneath the biggest tree they could find. Rumbles from the sky quickened their pace as they followed the river beneath the canopy of leaves.

“I think bears live here,” said James as he wielded his net like a club.

Harley didn’t know much about bears, but she picked up a stick too, just in case bears did live in the forest. After the fairies she wasn’t taking any chances.

“Look at that,” said James. He pointed to a tree with a face. There was a curious knot born in the thick trunk of an oak, with bark in such a way that it appeared to have eyes, a nose, and a laughing mouth.

Harley cautiously knocked her stick against the bark. “I think it’s just an old tree.”

“A laughing tree,” said James, prodding the mouth with the stick-end of the net. Frowning now, he swung his net against the exposed roots and it collided with a dull thud.

“Stop fooling around,” said Harley. “We need to find shelter until the storm passes.”

She climbed up a rock that jutted out from the earth and surveyed the area. An eerie feeling crept into her head, as if all the trees kept a secret, and suddenly she had second thoughts about coming here at all. The smart thing to do was leave, head back upstream, and ride out the storm in the apple orchard.

“James, let’s get out of here,” she said, looking down for her brother. “James?”

He was thirty feet away and pointlessly clubbing a leaf-covered mound built into the earth. She muttered a curse under her breath. He could be such a scatterbrain sometimes.

“Hey! Harley, come look!” shouted James.

Another strong gust of wind stirred the trees, sending stray leaves tumbling through the forest. Harley swung at them with the misplaced accuracy of a birthday piñata as she patrolled up to the mound to investigate. The mound was solid, well-built, and constructed with stones of various sizes that laid together like masonry bricks. A layer of green moss decorated the top of the mound, its age appearing ancient, and it was all very peculiar, especially the rectangular piece of wood that was formed into the stone.

She knocked on it gently with her stick.

“What is it?” said James.

“I think it’s a door.” replied Harley.