There was once a time when she had called the woods her home. But these were not her woods, and in the week since she'd been away, she was no longer the same girl. The woods she knew were southeast compared to her current location; these new trees were foreign to her. Her grass, her trees, her ineffably blue sky could not be so easily replaced.

But even if she'd been returned to the forest she recognized, would the stones and dust still know her name? They would not, she decided, for she no longer knew herself.

Emma Gail Harlem. The name had once meant something. It was once a source of power, her identity, her history all rolled into one. But Harlem—the name of her family—filled her with such deep rage she wanted to vomit onto the dying grass. They had all betrayed her now, left her to die, stole her away from her people. To think that she had once loved them disgusted her; she did not deserve the pain they brought.

And Gail, the name she'd send to her brother as an alias only he would recognize. But he did not deserve that secrecy any long, not since he stabbed her in the back. He was gone, and she was dead to him. But he was not dead to her, for he did not even deserve her thought.

So now she was just Emma, and with her past stripped away like an autumn breeze it did not matter where the city's rover brought her, for she was a stranger to the dangerous new world she once called home. It did not feel real to be released; she'd grown so accustomed to the darkness that it still hung around her in a heavy smoke, blurring all the edges and muffling all the sounds.

But now, she was on her own. A blank slate in woods that did not know her, a girl left with only a remnant of her name and a history she wanted to burn. The High Midwestern Fortress had been merciful—they had returned her knife. She was armed, she was young, she was ready. She had no plan, but she took off running.

And so Emma ran, and when she ran short of breath and the fatigue began to settle for she had not eaten or taken a moment to rest, she slowed to a walking pace, but never stopped moving. She couldn't bring her feet to a standstill, because whenever she dared stop moving, the darkness began to cloud her vision again and she could not stand to stare. She could not admit that she was lost, that she was in unknown territory on her own with no future before her.

In the days before, there had been the Ravens, and when their loyalty disintegrated before her eyes there was Peregrin, the camp that she had come to lead. But that was before, and now the Ravens were long gone, and what remained of Peregrin was lost to her. And she was not the same girl anymore. They knew Emma Gail Harlem. Now she was just Emma. They knew the little sister, the messenger. She was neither of those now. She was Emma in full, not Gail, not Harlem, and who that was exactly, she was unsure.

Eventually, however, she came upon a small stream and dropped to her knees, grateful for merely discovering a source of water, even though it was unlikely drinkable. That was alright. She splashed it up against her face, its icy temperature bringing her a welcome sigh of relief. As she blinked the cold out of her eyes, she placed her hand to the forest floor to ground herself, and when she opened them again, everything was clearer. The blurry edges were now sharp, sharper than they had ever been before. The unknown was less uncertain. One day at a time, she would make it. One day at a time, she would survive. That was to be her future.

"How far's your camp?" said someone approaching behind her, but she did not immediately turn around. Although she was alone, she still felt somewhat invisible, separated from the world around her. When nobody responded and footsteps grew nearer, however, she did move to face the strangers. Behind her stood two girls, probably not much older than she was.

"Nomadic," she responded, rubbing a finger across her cheek to wipe the water away.

The girls sent each other an uneasy look, but through eye contact alone came to a sound conclusion. The first of the two spoke again, looking down at the vagabond before them. "It's getting dark," she said. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

With a curt smile, Emma attempted to close the conversation. "I'll be fine," she insisted. "I can handle the dark." She wasn't quite sure why she rejected the two girls; she didn't even know them. In the past, she'd have been grateful for a stranger to be kind, to offer any advice. But this wasn't the past. This was now, and the past meant nothing.

"Shit, we all could do that," the second girl scoffed. "In case you didn't realize, someone killed a Knightmare, and the others haven't gotten revenge yet, which means they're going on a killing spree. Not to mention the fact you're small and hot, and a couple girls got raped and murdered a couple weeks ago. Yeah, I wish the dark was your biggest enemy."

"Damn," Emma said, her tone still a little too nonchalant for such violent news.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"South of the highway."

"There's a cave nearby where we can set up camp," the first girl explained. "You should come with us. Girls need to look out for each other, right?"

She mulled the prospect over for only a couple seconds before deciding that this unusual display of xenia was truly in her favor. Although she found their offer for protection unnecessary there was one clear benefit: information. She was wading into an ocean where she could not see the sandy floor. If they could tell her what was lurking beneath, this would be to her advantage.

"I'm Quinn," said the first girl. She was taller than Emma, but they shared the distinguishing features of a young woman whose world was flooded by blood. They shared the skeptical eyes, tight jaws, and sullen cheeks. Quinn would have been beautiful once. In high school, Emma would have hated her and her strangely clean blonde hair and dark brown eyes. But this was the present, and she knew that Quinn resembled her: whoever she had once been was buried six feet underground so long ago. "This is Sam."

"Emma," she said. "So let's go find this cave." They didn't speak much as they trekked for perhaps twenty minutes towards their refuge. Emma would have been naive to assume her new companions weren't communicating silently beside her, still debating whether or not the rare lone nomad was trustworthy. All she knew was that they didn't end up changing their minds, for when they reached the cave and Quinn shone a light in to check for any possible inhabitants, she ushered both girls inside.

"Where's all your shit?" she asked, turning to Emma as she raised a questionable eyebrow. Both she and her old friend carried heavy backpacks weighed down by their few belongings. All Emma carried was a knife.

"It's gone," she shrugged, and it was the truth. This didn't seem to assuage the others, however, so she continued. "My group abandoned me. They stole everything I had left."

"That sucks, I'm sorry."

"It's fine." She took a seat on a log against the cave's wall as Sam started a much needed fire to combat the brisk night temperatures. In the red light of the flames, Emma was able to get a clearer look around her new surroundings. Near the back of cave was a small pond, and the walls seemed to be covered in etchings. "It's over."

Quinn sighed, eyes examining the new girl in a way she could only consider to be judgemental. "I'm cutting your hair."

"What?"

"It's literally all a knot," the girl insisted. "And it's long enough that it could be used against you. Just going to get in the way. Go wash it in the pond."

"I don't want short hair," Emma began to argue, but was quickly cut off. Of course the length of her hair was not what scared her, it was how close Quinn would have to bring a weapon to her neck.

"It'll just be a few inches," Quinn promised, which hardly curbed the skepticism. "Besides, I'm bored and Sam won't let me cut hers until it gets longer again. I'm not gonna slit you."

"Forgive me for considering the option," she muttered.

The other girl smiled, "Damn, I actually like you. But seriously, don't worry. I'm not going to do anything bad."

"You know that cause otherwise the Knightmares would show up and murder us," Sam added, smiling as she leaned against the wall.

"You mentioned them before," Emma said. "Who are they?"

"I'll explain everything. Just go wash your hair." And of course, she needed information, and so she had to comply. Stripping down to just her bra so as to spare her shirt from getting wet, she shivered in the cold November night. The water, on the other hand, although it threatened to freeze her hair felt fresh against her scalp, just as it had when she had splashed it up against her eyes. It's not like she had any soap, but by simply scrubbing the follicles she knew she was ridding herself of some of the grime.

She could feel the eyes of the two girls staring at her, examining her exposed upper body. Their eyes did not make her uncomfortable, though. It seemed some old habits would die hard. She might never admit to being the infamous Grove Slut, but that didn't mean her sexuality did not exist. Only now she swore not to use it as a crutch.

Within the next ten minutes, she was seated again on a log, still shivering shirtless in the cold night, but knowing better than to let her one remaining top freeze. Quinn dug a come out of her bag and slowly began to push it through Emma's tangled knots. "We're just gonna cut these out," she said eventually. "When's the last time you actually brushed your hair?"

"It's been a hell of a trip."

"I can tell," Quinn said. Emma closed her eyes as she heard the sharp snipping sound of scissors, full-on scissors, not the shears she'd once been used to in her town's hair salon. But the blades never touched her skin, and her pounding heart decrescendoed with every cut. "So you wanted to know about the Knightmares?"

"Never heard of them until now."

Sam rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue in a condescending manner that made Emma's stomach clench. "Wherever you're coming from is literally under a rock."

"Believe me, I've had my fair share of psychopaths."

"The Knightmares think they're these woods' police officers or some bullshit," Quinn explained. Emma felt a slight tug as the girl pulled her hair together, examining to make sure it was at an even length. "Anyone screws up, any petty rivalries, literally the most insignificant details, and then they're found dead within the next couple weeks. Nobody knows much about them. Who they are, where they are, how many. All anyone knows is that if you make them your enemy, you don't survive. I'd stay away."

"And of course," Sam added, "Some idiot decided to kill one of them. They will murder anyone in their path to get revenge. Asshole screwed the rest of us over."

"Did you know his name?" asked Emma, for a deep-seeded fear had taken root. It had only been a number of days since that traitorous dick of a rogue Miles paid her off to kill a stranger.

"No," the other girl said. "That's the kind of the point. Nobody knows who they are."

"Finished," said Quinn, taking a step back and cutting the conversation off short. Emma drew her hand up to reach her hair, but was surprised to feel it end just above her shoulders. In the grand scheme of things, this moment should not have mattered, but for three years now her hair had made its way past her bra strap. She turned around and saw her own black hair sprawled out around the cave floor, and noticed how her own head felt lighter now.

"It looks good," Sam assured her. "Quinn knows what she's doing."

But her appearance was not what struck her most. She knew Sebastian used to scan the Ravens' camp for her long black ponytail, but now that identifying factor was lying in dust. It meant so little, the length of her hair, yet it was also so much. Gail and Harlem were gone, the raven-haired ponytail. All of it.

And she was only Emma: wild, untamed. And finally, she was freed.