We were less of a team now than when we started. I could see it happening, the snapping of the connections that had previously, tenuously, held the group together. But I also knew I wasn’t the person capable of bringing us back together, even if I had been more inclined to make the effort. As it was, I already felt suffocated by the tight tent quarters, Ulo’s relentless fixation, and my daily trip to the nervously chattering healer to get my injuries treated.

Juniper would have been the obvious choice to talk to everyone and bring them back to where we had been before the festerlings, at least. She was our chosen leader, after all. I didn’t think she could truly make us a team—didn’t want that outcome if she could. Working together better would increase our chances of surviving the wild, but I didn’t need or want the distraction of the other dangers that came with that closeness.

Not that Juniper’s ability to help the others or not really mattered at that point given that she was one of the main causes of the fracturing. After being rescued by the Ghost Hounds she had drawn into herself and barely spoken a word to anybody. Fern was the one who impatiently snapped for us to pack up camp in the morning and get a move on if she thought we were taking too long.

Breck was the one who eyed the sun’s descent in the evening and declared that she found a good spot to camp. We weren’t very good at taking breaks throughout the day of travel and everyone was feeling strained and sore from the lack of rest. Walking wasn’t a difficult activity until you pushed at it from dawn until dusk day after day after day.

The one bit of luck I had was when we passed a fallen tree and I took a thin, but sturdy branch as a new impromptu walking stick. It was the only thing that let me keep up with the pace and even then I could tell that if something didn’t change soon, something or someone would break. It might not be me at first, out of sheer stubbornness, but even that could only take me so far.

Wren tried to hold us together through her announced directions and general positive attitude, but both fell on a difficult audience. There was only so many ways she could say “we’re should keep heading southeast” and “we’re still going in the right direction”. She talked with Chirp and some of the other birds she saw, but it didn’t take long for even her casual air to grow strained. No one else indulged her need for conversation other than Sid, and she didn’t always seem to know what to say to the healer.

Ulo and Nii weren’t allowed to leave the main group any more without supervision, so the bulk of hunting and gathering duties fell on Breck. As she was more inclined to hunt than gather our plant based supplies were dwindling. I did what I could to gather the edible plants and berries I recognized, but I couldn’t range far from the group without risking putting too much strain on my aching hip.

Ulo wasn’t happy with her new lot in life and, more than once, arguments had sprung up between her and Nii. Once, when I was slipping around the tents to find a quiet spot outside to sleep, I heard my name being hissed. Nii was trying to share Rawley’s viewpoint on my blessing while Ulo worked herself up into a rant about the fact that I was life tainted and Nii was an easily taken in fool and betrayer. I listened until I had a dozen petty plans for revenge against Ulo and the knowledge that if I didn’t leave then she would be taking a fist to the face for the sheer number of insults she called me.

I didn’t want to start a fight I wasn’t in the condition to win. She did find a host of ants in her shoes the next morning though.

Ulo threw her shoes at me when she found me eating my morning meal in the middle of camp. One struck me in the chest and the other, my shoulder. Neither really hurt, but I didn’t appreciate my meal nearly being knocked out of my hands. I set it to the side and picked up her shoes.

“A new pair? For me? I didn’t know you were such a giver at heart.”

Her voice echoed of the trees surrounding us. “You put ants in my shoes!”

I peered at one of the tiny offenders that had crawled onto my hand before flicking it away. “Are you sure they weren’t attracted to the smell of your feet? I heard they were attracted to the smell of oblivious, weak crybabies.”

That was all it took for her to try to attack me with our stressed and flaring tempers. She got about three steps in before she crumpled over Fern’s fist in her gut.

The older seedling glared all around her, so that her look took in everyone arrayed around the cooking area and tents. “I won’t tolerate this.”

Thunder cracked in the distance as if to accentuate her declaration.

I didn’t have the patience to keep my mouth in check. “I thought you weren’t supposed to step in?”

“I can and will when you all have shown you have no more control or sense than children. I’d step light if I were you, all of you, and didn’t want to be declared a failure once you reach the Rookery.”

Fern paused before amending her statement. “If you reach it.”

Cold stabbed down my spine as she left Ulo spluttering in the dirt. Failure wasn’t acceptable. Never had been, never would be.

Wren called after her. “What happens if we fail?”

Fern’s only answer was the snap of her tent flap as she disappeared behind it. Abandoning us to the cloud of stress, hurt pride, and impotent anger that still hung over the camp.

Wren looked to where Colm was washing his cooking supplies. “Well?”

He paused his work just long enough to rebuff her. “I won’t tell you more than my mistress is willing to.”

“But—”

“This is your fault!” Ulo rose to her feet, swaying and clutching her middle. Her eyes burned into me.

I was careful to keep my movements casual as I picked my wrap back up and took another bite. Dismissive. “I didn’t pick the fight.”

I might not be able to accept failure, but taking Ulo’s insults quietly wasn’t acceptable either.

Her hands clenched as she took a step forward. “You started it! You shouldn’t even be here ruining everything.”

I ate my last bite and stood. “I don’t think you need my help with that.” I started to turn away before

I tossed one last parting comment over my shoulder. “I don’t waste my time with useless fools.”

Ulo rushed me again, yelling. No one else moved quick enough to intercept her and she shoved me to the ground. I forced down a yelp of pain as I landed on my bad hip before I glared up at her and her balled fist.

“Do it. Punch me and make sure that Fern fails all of us.” I offered my cheek up to her. “Do it.”

Her face twisted as her fist wavered. I didn’t think her desire to punch me was stronger than her desire to become a whisper woman, but part of me was tempted to see if I could push her over the edge. If I could make her hate herself as much as she was set on hating me.

Fern could threaten to take away the only thing I had left and I couldn’t control what she might or might not say when she gave her evaluation of the group, especially when I had the feeling she already didn’t like me. But Ulo was right here and I could control this—even if only into a downward spiral.

I grinned at the other girl. “I knew a crybaby like you wouldn’t be strong enough to hit me.”

Ulo’s fist went for my face. I pulled my head to the side to make her miss, but Nii’s hand caught Ulo’s wrist before her punch had a chance to connect. “Stop it.”

Ulo tried to break free of Nii’s grip, but she couldn’t do anything against the buff girl despite her hours of spearwork. “Let me go! She deserves—”

Nii slapped her and I couldn’t help but grin wider at the unexpected development. I didn’t let it wither when Nii glared down at me before bringing her gaze back up to Ulo. “You’re falling into her trap and I don’t think she’s even trying that hard. It’s disgraceful.”

Ulo looked like Nii had slapped her again before she spat out a few choice curses. Then she actually spit on me. A huge glob landed on the cheek I had offered her to punch.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Ulo tugged her arm Nii still held. “Get off me.”

Nii relented and Ulo stalked off.

Nii glanced down at me. “I don’t know if you’re life ridden or not, but you’re not a better person than her.”

I laughed.

She left.

By the time I grounded myself enough to stop laughing and pick myself from the dirt, the air was heavy and damp with the promise of the coming rain. Some of us had wanted to travel despite the inconvenience and discomfort until Wren had won over the majority with her point that navigation would be near impossible without a landmark, path, sun or stars to guide us. So now the plan was to wait out the storm and hope that we could still get some travel in today once it cleared up. Which could take anywhere from a couple hours to the rest of the day.

The chance to rest was appreciated, but it left me two uncomfortable choices. Spend the time cooped up in the tent with Wren, Chirp, and Nii, or try to find some other shelter in the woodland and likely get rained on.

Everyone else had already disappeared into wherever they were holing up for the storm. I kept staring at the tent I was supposed to shelter in. It would be small and cramped and likely neither of the other seedlings would want anything to do with me after what just happened.

It started to drizzle.

Nii would probably glare at me the entire time and I wouldn’t be able to leave. Or Wren would want to know what I was thinking and would ask question after question, chatter on to stave off her own boredom and curiosity. They would judge me and the tent walls would press in close, too close, and because of the rain it wouldn’t be easy for me to leave. They would want to know why.

My breath came fast.

What if the memories overtook me? And they witnessed that horrid weakness?

The rain hitting my cheeks became tears as Mother poured a bucket of water over my head, creating a puddle of muck and mud underneath me as I crouched outside the tent. The bucket clattered to the ground beside me and hit me in the shin as she glowered her second look of disappointment down at me.

“Cool your head.” And then, “Just had to be clever, didn’t you? Stupid girl.” The wind blew strong and cold, but she didn’t seem to notice as I shivered in my wet clothing. She shook her head. “After all the work I put into you? I should cut those beads from your hair now.”

My hand shot up to protect the four precious beads. “No, Mother! I won’t do it again. I’ll be more careful.”

“And risk letting you destroy more good ingredients? I should—”

Mother’s voice fuzzed out as she cut into me with her words. A hand was gripping my shoulder, but Mother hadn’t done that. She didn’t want to touch me after she dragged me out of the tent. Someone else was speaking too, but no one else had dared interrupt as she berated me.

It was wrong. All wrong.

But I didn’t want to be cowering at Mother’s feet anymore, sniveling and terrified that she’d actually cut the healer’s beads from my hair this time. So I tried to focus on the wrongness, on the hand and the voice until between one blink and the next I was back in the rain in the cooking area.

Tents to the front and side. Pine trees all around and rain pouring down more heavily than I remembered. And..and Wren was gripping my shoulder and saying something.

“—can’t just stand in the rain. What are you doing?” She peered closer at me. “What’s wrong?”

On reflex I jerked my shoulder out of her grip. “Don’t touch me.”

Wren took a step forward, following me. “Why are you standing in the rain? What’s wrong?”

It was too much. I didn’t want her to see and now she had and I wouldn’t—couldn’t—explain any of it to her, and Mo—Lev—she was still hovering on the edge of my consciousness, waiting for me to slip into another memory.

I turned and ran. Half-limping and not caring. Wren called after me but I ignored her. Then I heard her start to chase me and I tried to run faster. Her hand caught around my wrist and I jerked it free from her again. “Don’t touch me!”

I slipped.

She tripped over me and we both fell onto the muddy ground a tangle of limbs.

Wanting Mother to carry me, to help me as she walked away. My foot hurt. Of course, it did. A large hook had carved its way through it.

I fought to keep my voice steady, but it came out thready. “My foot. A hook…”

“If you want something you’re going to have to talk louder.”

I cleared my throat and forced the threadiness from my voice, “There’s a hook in my foot.”

She beckoned. “Then stop wasting time on the ground. All of my herbs are back at my shop and there’s not enough light out here.”

Mother turned and continued toward the tents. She didn’t care. She never cared no matter what I did not to be a failure in her eyes. I gritted my teeth and followed her. Through the mud and muck and fish guts. No complaints, no tears despite the sharp, aching pain that throbbed through my foot with every step…

Rain hit my face and it was my hip that ached, not my foot. Wren was kneeling beside me. Her face was at war between uncertainty, concern, and fear. My breath was still coming fast and everything felt hazy, like I could slip back at any moment if I didn’t concentrate.

Two in less than an hour. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened and Wren had witnessed both.

I rolled away from her onto my side. Shaky with adrenaline, with weariness. Curling up, covering my face with arms, I tried to remember how to breath regularly.

Wren moved but she didn’t touch me. Finally.

“Gimley? What’s going on?”

I couldn’t answer her. Not yet. Not the truth.

I don’t know how long it took for me to get my breathing under control, for my thoughts to stop threatening to tip backwards. She sat in the rain with me the entire time. It wasn’t enough for me to tell her everything, or anything really, because really it just made me feel worse. I wanted to tell her to go, but I didn’t have the breath to tell her until she had already gotten soaked to the skin.

I rolled back onto my back, so that I could give her my best glare. It felt rather weak at that point. “You can’t tell anyone.”

She gave me a nervous smile. “I wouldn’t know what to tell them.”

“Good.”