Less a shower and more a squall, the droplets landed hard and cold, thrown by a spiteful wind. It was late spring, but this outburst had all the evil fury of a winter storm. The limb of a fir tree cracked under the torment and fell like the wing of some giant bird. It landed ten feet from their camp. Overhead, leaves flew in circles, and the trees swayed like drunks at a crowded party. The three quickly broke down the camp in an effort to stow their tents before the wind ripped rope from peg. Everything was soaked. Farilane had a puddle at the bottom of her pack. She rolled her tent, forcing water from the folds. The rain’s gray curtain limited sight to only a few yards, but worse was the splashing and spraying that kept her blinking and wiping.

“They got in the food,” Sheldon shouted over the wind. He stood holding one of the larger packs, staring at its contents.

“What’s that?” Farilane asked.

“Chipmunks, I think. They ate through the bottom of the bag. I didn’t even know chipmunks liked vegetables. They got in the cheese, too.”

“What’s left?”

“Not a lot.” Sheldon dropped the sack on the ground, revealing the gnawed hole in the bottom of the bag.

“Chewed through the waterskins as well.” Kile brought the bad news and the deflated bladders. “We just went from being low on water to being out.”

“Better to have been visited by chipmunks than whatever that other thing was,” Farilane shouted back.

They all stared at the trees for a moment. The face of the forest—a sheer green curtain that swayed with the wind and had appeared so pastoral the day before—now displayed a malevolent side. The forest . . . I’ve heard things.

“Which way?” Sheldon asked. He didn’t sound scared, but he didn’t sound happy.

Farilane studied the trees. “Let’s put the wind at our backs and look for a side trail.”

“Good plan,” Kile told her with a wet-faced smile.

Sheldon did not appear so confident as he hoisted his pack with a scowl.

Farilane led the way, walking close to the left of the greenway. Kile strode on the right, and Sheldon plodded down the middle, hunched over with the weight of his wet gear. Farilane peered as deeply into the woods as possible, searching for even the smallest deer trail or water flush. She saw nothing but dense foliage. The wind and rain slapped their backs with a chill hand. They had only traveled a few hundred feet when the wind attacked now from the front.

“We can’t have made a half circle already,” Kile grumbled.

“The wind just changed,” Farilane said. “It happens.” She shook her head. “This is a most disagreeable forest.”