“Sometimes.” The air shifted behind her. Peter’s warmth pressed between her shoulder blades. “But most of them are able to find their way and move on,” he said, his voice low.

Wendy’s breaths came short and quick. The sleeping creature, nestled between her ribs and spine, began to wake and tremble.

Her hand went to the acorn around her neck. “I think we’re close,” she murmured, squeezing it tight in her palm. A sense of déjà vu, a ghost of a memory, teased at the edge of her mind.

Peter moved to her side. His bare arm pressed against hers for once provided no ease. His eyes were alert and sharp.

“Can you feel it, too?” Wendy breathed in barely a whisper.

Peter nodded slowly. “Maybe we should leave, Wendy,” he said quietly, as if trying not to wake up the trees. His hand slipped into hers, warm and calloused.

Wendy heard the whisper again, this time louder but still indecipherable. She couldn’t tell which direction it came from. Her heart thudded against her chest.

Wendy took a step back. Peter’s hand gave hers a squeeze.

A soft sob above Wendy’s head sent her neck snapping back. She stared up into the boughs trying to spot something, she didn’t know what.

“Can you hear them?” she asked Peter. Quiet sniffles. A far-off cry. “They’re getting louder. I think they’re coming from over here…” She pulled on Peter’s hand, taking a tentative step in the direction where the voices seemed to be louder.

When he didn’t respond or move, Wendy tore her eyes away from the woods to look at him.

Peter was still as a statue. The color had drained from his face. His eyes were wide, staring at something behind her. His hand was limp in hers.

There was buzzing in the air, hanging over her shoulders. Every muscle in her body coiled in a burning sear. She let out a rattling breath. It billowed through her lips in a white cloud.

Peter’s grip on her hand tightened again. “Wendy, get away from it,” Peter said, his eyes still locked on the space behind her shoulder. He said it quietly, but it might as well have been a shout in the silent woods.

Wendy slowly turned.

Behind her stood the tree. Its thick trunk twisted upward and split off into jagged, bare branches. They loomed above, sharp fingers reaching out. The tree’s bark stood out in stark contrast to the others: ghostly pale compared to their rich greens and browns. Gnarled roots knotted and churned through the underbrush. The air smelled of rotting leaves and dirt.