Not knowing where else to go and smelling no other easy, nearby refuge, I decide to return to the big one’s trail. Out past the young one’s camp and east towards the unknown icons on the map. The forest is fine, but it’s too easy to unexpectedly run into these stupid, roving kill teams of the big ones out here. It’s as though they’re specifically looking for me, and avoiding them is so annoying. If only I found more brothers first, then we could end their tyranny.

  Also, sleeping in a tree is nothing like sleeping in that wonderful cave. A large bird may snipe me from the branches. A bigger creature may stumble upon me, a juicy morsel, after climbing up to pick an apple. You can never know what’ll happen, raised up so close to this bright, ugly sun. It’ll never be like the mud keeping me safe, lovingly holding me in its tender arms. Sweet, quiet whispers calming my every breath. Sigh.

  Having set out late into the night, I made good time getting back here. Despite that, it’s still dawn by the time I arrive at the trail. I keep myself within the shadows of the trees alongside it as best I can, which proves wise since I pass several smaller groups of big ones. They’re not the kill teams, but they still stink of dangerous potential. They also look extremely bored. All of them are fully metal, except for their faces, and carry long sticks with metal bits on the end. Of course, my careful, artful movements as they pass also has its merits.

  My genius expands. As the last group passes off into the distance west, I race away farther into the east. For some strange reason, the mystery icon on the map appeals to me. I don’t know why. One part of me simply wants more mud, but another feels as though I’ll find even better mud if I go looking in unusual places. Although, I haven’t smelled even a single new source of the little brother mud since I left my old, temporary home. That may also be prompting my desire to explore. Are there simply no other good pools anywhere nearby?

  Finally, the tree line fades away into sprawling grassy fields, and farther along the trail are tall, rough wood logs pounded deep into the soil. Walls like in the dream but much simpler. They protected that ridiculous place that my brothers stole away from those worthless losers. Good riddance. However, this one still looks whole, so it shouldn’t be the same. Unless they regrow?

  Before leaving the tree line, I bury my packs under a few large rocks to avoid them being too easily discovered. Then I pull my…?

  Cloak. I pull my cloak as far over my head as I can so that its portable shadow wholly hides my face. I should fear daylight by the walls, but something tells me that it’ll be fine so long as they don’t see my face, hands, or feet. Fine at least for a short look. An inspection. A perusal. They won’t see what they don’t expect. I’ll still stay far away from all the intimidating metal big ones. Especially the crowd at the open gates on the wall.

  Creeping low in the grassy field, I scramble only half way to the wall before I discover a surprise. Three leaves, dark green, very curvy. They’re everywhere in this field.

  A newly reflexive appraisal joyously reveals so much more useful information than before. Is this because of my improved mixing song? Or because I’ve become so familiar with working with this plant. Or both? Or more?

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  Forget that, I know that I can make successful mixtures with these. Therefore, I’m gathering as many as I can into my free waist pouches. Pouches, another lesson in naming from the status.

  Greedily squatting at work in the open field and completely forgetting the situation, I somehow miss the quiet pattering sounds of others approaching behind me.

  “Who are you?” a voice calls out.

  Embarrassingly, I jump and let out a small, shrill squeak. Clamping my cloak shut and leaning my head down to obscure my face, I step away from the sound slowly. Should I run? That might trigger them to chase. Should I freeze? Play dead? Will they go away if I’m uninteresting enough?

  “Don’t be scared,” the same voice says. “They said it’s ok for children to collect out here.”

  The what? I’m too scared to bring my head up to look at them. If the cloak slips, then my face will be exposed. If I stand up too tall, then my feet will show.

  With my head down, all I can see is their feet. Small feet. Maybe the same size as mine? However, their shins aren’t dirty or green, so definitely not goblins. What am I saying, I understand them so clearly. They’re big ones, aren’t they?

  “It’s safe here. The gate guards said that if anything scary shows up, they’ll be over here quick to kill it.”

  “No, stupid. They said that they would try,” a different, laughing voice chimes in. “They said to be careful to run away first.”

  “Shut up, Charley!” the first voice angrily retorts. “Can’t you see that she’s scared, and I’m calming her down? You’re not helping!”

  “Who cares,” replies Charley voice. “Our bags are already full, and I’m tired. Let's go back in and eat.”

  “Fine,” the other voice dully agrees, before sweetly turning to continue in my direction. “Do you want to come with us? We have snacks!”

  I turn my head from side to side, desperately searching for any good escape paths, but my rigidly downcast vision can only see a few feet in either direction under the hood. He said that the other big ones would run out to get me? Are they already encircled around me right now?

  “Leave her alone, Sherrel,” Charley voice scolds. “She doesn’t wanna come.”

  “She’s probably just scared of your stupid face,” Sherrel voice angrily exposes. “Come on, it’s not far. You must be tired from working!”

  My stomach drops as little feet shuffle up close behind me. Hands push on my back, forcing me forward. The awkward, low ambling squat to keep my cloak down is killing my knees and back, but what other choice do I have? If I run, the metal big ones will quickly be upon me exactly as he said. If they’re not all here already. I can’t fight one of them! Can I even fight these two?

  With my head still down and neck sore, I submit to fate as they lead me closer and closer towards what I assume to be that giant door in the walls.

  “Welcome back Sherrel and Charely! Good haul today?” a new voice rings out cheerily.

  “Of course, sir. We are very good at what we do,” Sherrel voice shines back from behind me, still prodding me forward.

  “And who’s this all covered up little thing now?” the new voice quizzes.

  “Um, she’s new. Her name is… Teresa. Very shy. We’re trying to get her back to her parents before she misses them and starts to cry,” Sherrel explains, her little hands briefly wincing at occasional points in the conversation.

  “Aw, poor thing, can’t have that,” the new voice sighs out. “Move along then.”

  The little hands immediately continue pushing me forwards past the metal men and through the big doors. How is this happening? How is this possible?