For the next few hours, they walked and searched but found nothing. All the while, the wind came at them. Eventually, they spotted the fallen branch, mashed grass, and burnt circle of their previous night’s camp. Coming to a stop, they all stared at the familiar sight with miserable frowns.

“You saw nothing?” she asked Kile.

“Can’t even find where we entered onto this greenway,” Kile said.

“Isn’t it possible to determine direction by the moss on a tree?” Sheldon asked, his tone tinged with frustration. “It always grows on the north side, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Farilane replied. “And spiderwebs are most often found on the south side.”

“So why don’t we—”

Farilane curled a finger inviting him to follow her. She led Sheldon to the base of the sycamore she had climbed the night before. All the trees had moss circling their bases. And one rock was entirely surrounded by spiderwebs.

“Is that normal?”

“No,” she said.

“And the way the rain managed to stay in our faces even while we obviously walked in a circle?”

She shrugged. “Just going to have to push randomly into the undergrowth, I suppose.” She pulled their big, blackened pan from the sack and set it on the grass, where it rang with the sound of raindrops.

“What are you going to cook?” Sheldon asked, hopeful but confused. “The chipmunks ate everything.”

“She’s not cooking,” Kile shouted over the roar of the rain. “We’re out of water, remember?”

Farilane smiled at him. “If we’re going to hack our way through the understory of this forest, we’ll need water. We can fix the bladders, I think. I have needle and thread and wax in my pack. And with all this rain it won’t take long to . . .”

The downpour of rain that had been a constant drumming and crash since they awoke, stopped. All that remained was the patter of water slipping off drenched leaves.

Farilane looked at her pan. Not even a quarter full. “I’m starting to not like this place.”

Kile looked at the walls of trees to either side of the greenway. “Don’t suppose it matters where or what direction we try?”

“Not that I can see.” Farilane was still staring sadly at her pan.

With no noticeable arc in the path, Kile picked a side. The thickets were dense—too tightly packed to push past. Thorns made the prospect of climbing or forcing their way through a bit too disagreeable. Kile and Sheldon hacked at the brush, trying to clear a path while Farilane went about gathering what water she could off the trees’ leaves, even going so far as to wring out her clothes into the pan.

The men returned, looking tired. She offered them the water and fished out what food the rodents had missed. Together, they shared a modest meal.