A scream pierced Harley’s ears. Her heart skipped a beat as worry rushed into her, but only for a split second. Then she was annoyed.

“James!” shouted Harley. “Stop chasing Johan!”

Her brothers had returned to their usual bad behavior—including the same running-around, roughhousing, scream-and-laugh game that they did at home. But this wasn’t home, and a misstep here could result in severe consequences. Their game also happened to be extremely annoying. Meanwhile Tena, God bless her heart, couldn’t do anything to settle them down with her Oh Heavens expression and calm talking approach.

“Stop what you’re down right now!” shouted Harley, picking up a thin stick and raising it high. “Now walk beside me without saying a word. And no making faces either.”

She would be the one to keep them on track. She was good at it too; years of babysitting her brothers along with other neighborhood kids made her feel comfortable enforcing boundaries. Babysitting kids only a few years younger was more art than science. But she knew the common techniques, including the carrot and stick, and she decided to use discipline to keep them focused.

And thus, they made progress. She carried the hammer and struck the singing stones one after another; leading the way was also her responsibility. The new sandals on her feet made walking easier. Her hand bothered her less.

The trail through the forest zigged up gentle hills and zagged over gurgling streams, and the wind kept them cool. After a bit of walking and a bit of lecturing, she stopped at the base of an old oak tree. They had arrived at the second fork.

“Which way now, Harley?” said James.

She needed a minute to think. If the right trail led to Pinecrest, then the left trail went to Cutter’s Gate. But Barten never said that exactly, and they weren’t going to the village anymore, for Maibben was there, and Maibben was trouble.

So did the left trail go directly to Cutter’s Gate? Harley hoped it did, but hoping is different from knowing, and that was the problem.

James pulled on her shirt. “Did Barten say which way?”

“Yeah. He did.”

“So which way is it?”

“Let me think it over.”

“If Barten said which way, then what are you thinking about?”

“I said let me think!” shouted Harley.

“Would anyone like a bite to eat?” asked Tena as she unfolded the canvas flap of the satchel.

James and Johan went to Tena like baby birds, their hands held open and wanting. It was a welcome distraction.

Harley had a few minutes of peace and she made sure to use the time wisely. She gathered up a dozen ordinary rocks near the fork, then she stacked them tall as if they were building blocks. The result was a trail marker, a crude one but still effective.

Eventually her brothers came over and crouched beside her curiously.

“What are you doing?” asked James.

“We’ll make a stack of rocks at every fork,” said Harley. “You know, in case we get turned around.”

Harley imagined the trail as a tangled string; some forks circle around, other forks lead to an end, it was all a matter of knowing which way you came, and which way you hadn’t. She tightened the twine on her sandals and made an announcement.

“We stay left on the trail.”

She continued leading and the group followed her left on the trail. The forks were few and far between, but each time they went left, and at each fork they left a stack. When a fork led to an end, it was a place to rest, and when a fork looped them around, they went the other way. It worked well enough, except for the walking.

Harley’s legs grew tired, her brothers were exhausted, but Tena stayed fresh as a daisy. And more than that, she was chatty—Where are you from? What do you do? Do you live on a farm? In the woods? By a meadow?

Tena asked about sisters and cousins, if they were nice or if they were mean, and whether they were big, small, tall, round, or skinny. But she was a good listener too, and her comments were kind.

Apparently Tena was also an expert chef, and Harley learned the nuances of acorn loaf and maple pudding, the difficulties of birch bark stew, and the fourteen best uses for goat milk.

The final topic was the forest, and the things that lived in it. Tena spoke fondly of woodpeckers and finches, rabbits and deer, of ferns with gold leaves and giant newts with red stripes. She knew the good trees from bad, the signs of a storm, and the best ways to avoid fairies. The only detail not discussed was the forest at night, and since the night would eventually come, it was curious that Tena said nothing about it.

“Tena?” said Harley. “What happens at night in the forest?”

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“I was afraid I would frighten you,” said Tena. “There are monsters that roam the forest at night.”

“What kind of monsters?” asked Harley.

“Unnatural beasts, blood-suckers and bandits. But fear not, my cousin lives in a wonderful house and you can all stay the night.”

Harley froze—Cutter’s Gate wasn’t a one day hike. They would be spending the night outside, perhaps two or even three nights if the trail kept meandering. Maribel must have known that before she decided to come with them. Hadn’t she?

A bad feeling set in and Harley quivered as she forced out the question, “H-Have you ever stayed outside at night?”

“Oh Heavens, no. Maibben wouldn’t allow it.”

“Not even when you were little?”

“My father had a wagon.”

“Has Maibben ever stayed outside at night?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I just thought you’d know. I haven’t lived here my whole life like you have.”

Tena scoffed. “The night frightens me and we should avoid it. How much longer do we have?”

“I’m not sure...” said Harley.

“But you said you knew the way?”

“I said I know how to get there.”

“Harley…you tricked me.”

But she hadn’t—not on purpose at least. It was a misunderstanding. Harley felt flush.

“Oh Heavens…” said Tena, pacing in a circle and repeating the expression.

Harley fidgeted with her hands as she searched for something to say.

I’m sorry. I’m scared. I’m trying my best.

But no matter what she thought she might say, nothing came out. Surely Tena wouldn’t want to hear any excuses. The ugly truth was out in the open—she was a liar, a fake. At least that’s how it felt. Her reputation was irrevocably damaged.

Tena sighed as she scratched Chocolate behind the ears. “We should rest.”

The sun was low in the sky and soon the dimming of dusk would be upon them. With Tena’s suggestion, there was no momentum left for travel. There was no energy left for conversation either, as James and Johan had kept their mouths shut the entire time, not daring to be anything but spectators.

Harley sat on a rock, shoulders slumped, staring blankly at the ground. So much for progress or friendship. They had walked far, for nearly the whole day, and it was all ruined.

Tena went through her satchel and pulled out a black pot. “Be a dear and fill this up?” she said as she set the pot next to James.

Then she gave Johan a pat on the back. “We need some sticks. Thin is good but dry is best. Like I showed you, okay?”

Now was Harley’s turn to be a spectator as she watched Tena unpack the food. There was buttered loaf and leafy greens, walnuts and maple seeds, red berry pie and pine needle tea, and a homemade dessert—chocolate fudge. After a few minutes, James and Johan returned with their tasks complete. Next, Tena made a small fire for cooking. Johan curiously watched James, and James tried unsuccessfully to whittle a stick.

An accident would happen at any moment unless Harley spoke up. She frowned, then used her lecturing tone, “Cut away from your body. If you keep doing it that way, you’ll cut yourself.”

James grumbled, “No I won’t.”

“My turn,” said Johan as he leaned in closer.

“It’s my knife and you don’t know how to use it,” said James. “You can watch me.”

James tried to slice the bark smoothly but he did more gouging than slicing, and the end result was a mutilated stick. He showed his work to Johan who wasn’t smiling, and the stick fell unwanted to the ground.

“You would have liked my catching net, Yoyo. It was really big and really cool, but I left it outside the gnome house and the rain swept it away,” said James.

“Come and eat,” said Tena.

Johan let out a cheer and stood first in line. Harley waited for James and Tena to serve themselves first, and when all were full, the group gathered by the fire with tea, chocolate, and pie.

“Hey Yoyo,” said James. “If you get scared tonight, you can sleep next to me.”

Johan shook his head with red berry pie stains spread across his mouth.

“Why not Yoyo? You aren’t scared? Remember the dragonflies I saw earlier?”

“Wait a minute—what’d you just say? You saw dragonflies?” said Harley.

“A few green ones. But don’t worry Harley, I didn’t see fairy riders or anything like that—”

“James! Why didn’t you tell me?! They’re probably waiting for us to fall asleep.” Harley buried her face in her hands and groaned. Dragonfly sightings were not a good sign—hadn’t she removed the fairy’s mark?

“We need a night watch,” said Tena.

“A night watch?” asked James.

“Someone that stays up to watch for danger.”

“Oh! I’d be good at that.”

“Then you and I will go first,” said Tena. “Chocolate needs a good brush.”

“And I’ll practice with my knife!”

Harley groaned. Blood-suckers, fairies, knife accidents—all were equally miserable. She was in no mood to stay up and worry, so she took a wool blanket from the satchel and rolled up the end to use as a pillow. Johan curled up next to her and they watched a leaf flutter on an oak branch for entertainment. The branches swayed above the campfire, her eyelids grew heavy, and the breeze blew the leaf off and away. She imagined herself on top of it, floating up like a kite in the wind.

The stars twinkled as James sat with his knife and ate from a bowl of chocolate ice cream. It was a big bowl, family-sized, with a pleasant cocoa bean pattern, and he wasn’t watching for danger, but Tena was, and she brushed her goat with an oversized hairbrush. Chocolate’s hair grew longer with each stroke of the brush, though Tena didn’t seem to notice, nor did Chocolate, who had now lost his legs in the shaggy brown mess. A curious fire billowed smoke up through the treetops, and the forest lay undefined, with no detail except for a tiny bird, scared and gray. It flew out of the trees with a cry, and a green dragonfly followed, not for fun but in pursuit, and the bird did its best to flee, and it tried to circle the moon.

Fly away, bird. Fly away.

The dragonfly was fast and angry, vengeful, hunting the bird, and catching up. Wake up Harley. The dragonfly gained, closer and closer, until the distance between them had narrowed to none. The tiny bird screamed.

“Wake up! Harley, wake up!”