get them from you now because I have a feeling this excursion will end with the opposite conclusion, at least when it comes to babies in the forest. The more I think about it—”
“Don’t second-guess. I know you aren’t sure what you heard. You may have heard a baby, in a spot where we definitely encountered fae, and the baby was snatched in classic fairy-napping style. We can’t ignore that.”
I listened to the forest. A few minutes ago, there’d been critters scurrying across the ground and the hesitant hoot of an owl, still considering whether it was too early to come out. Now I heard only the creak of boughs and the rustle of leaves. Beyond the forest, twilight had barely begun to fall. In here, it was dark with shadow, the sun’s last rays barely penetrating the thick canopy. We’d left the trail, following our own tracks from earlier.
When we reached the swimming hole, we headed up the incline to where I’d stripped on the rock.
He planted himself in his former spot and pointed left. “It came from over there.”
“I remember you looking that way,” I said. “I thought I really needed to step up my game if your attention wandered while I was stripping.”
“Nah, my attention wandered because you were stripping. A baby suggested we weren’t alone.”
“But that’s all you heard.”
“It only lasted a couple of seconds. One of those sounds where at first you’re sure what you heard, but when you don’t hear it again, you start coming up with alternative explanations. I figured it must have been a bird or an animal.”
“Stay there and close your eyes.”
“You aren’t going to strip and jump off the rocks again, are you?”
“Later. For now, we’re working on auditory-recollection cues.”
He shut his eyes. I scampered behind a bush ten feet to his left and said, “Wa-wa-wa.”
“Is that supposed to be a baby? Or Charlie Brown adults?”
“Work with me.”
“Do it again.”
I did, and he said, “It was farther away.”
I took up position under a tree and tried again.
“Better,” he said. “But head left.”
I followed his directions. As I backed up, I was making my baby noises when I tripped and crashed ass-first into a thicket. Twisting to rise, I saw that the grass had been flattened, as if a fawn had lain here.
“You okay?” Ricky called.
“Just clumsy.”
“Well, the direction sounds right.”
I looked at the thicket again and thought of a whole other kind of baby animal nestled in it. I took out my penlight to shine over the inside of the thicket. There, caught on a bramble, I found threads. Pale yellow ones. Like the kind that might be used for a baby blanket.
I called Ricky over and told him what I’d found. He crouched outside the thicket. When I saw he was looking at the ground, I shone my penlight there to see a footprint. A bare humanoid footprint.
I took the yellow threads and folded them into a piece of notepaper. As I was doing that, Ricky’s gaze swung toward the rock over the swimming hole.
“Hear something?” I whispered.
His lips compressed. I knew the look. He hadn’t necessarily seen or heard anything, but detected it with another sense, one that made him far less comfortable saying yes.
“Trust it,” I murmured.
He leaned toward me. “Keep talking,” he said, and then he cut through the thicket, crouched over as he moved.
“Okay,” I said. “So we’re not finding anything, and like you said, you aren’t sure what you heard. We could go back into the water, but it’s going to be freezing cold, and as much fun as that last encounter was, I’m not sure you’d enjoy an ice-water replay nearly as much.” I paused. Silence, as I’d expect—Ricky moves like a Huntsman, dead quiet in the woods.
I kept talking. “Although, on second thought, that might be an interesting experience. Cold water. Warm mouth. Tell you what, I say we just forget this whole thing and go for a swim. I can use more practice giving
“Don’t second-guess. I know you aren’t sure what you heard. You may have heard a baby, in a spot where we definitely encountered fae, and the baby was snatched in classic fairy-napping style. We can’t ignore that.”
I listened to the forest. A few minutes ago, there’d been critters scurrying across the ground and the hesitant hoot of an owl, still considering whether it was too early to come out. Now I heard only the creak of boughs and the rustle of leaves. Beyond the forest, twilight had barely begun to fall. In here, it was dark with shadow, the sun’s last rays barely penetrating the thick canopy. We’d left the trail, following our own tracks from earlier.
When we reached the swimming hole, we headed up the incline to where I’d stripped on the rock.
He planted himself in his former spot and pointed left. “It came from over there.”
“I remember you looking that way,” I said. “I thought I really needed to step up my game if your attention wandered while I was stripping.”
“Nah, my attention wandered because you were stripping. A baby suggested we weren’t alone.”
“But that’s all you heard.”
“It only lasted a couple of seconds. One of those sounds where at first you’re sure what you heard, but when you don’t hear it again, you start coming up with alternative explanations. I figured it must have been a bird or an animal.”
“Stay there and close your eyes.”
“You aren’t going to strip and jump off the rocks again, are you?”
“Later. For now, we’re working on auditory-recollection cues.”
He shut his eyes. I scampered behind a bush ten feet to his left and said, “Wa-wa-wa.”
“Is that supposed to be a baby? Or Charlie Brown adults?”
“Work with me.”
“Do it again.”
I did, and he said, “It was farther away.”
I took up position under a tree and tried again.
“Better,” he said. “But head left.”
I followed his directions. As I backed up, I was making my baby noises when I tripped and crashed ass-first into a thicket. Twisting to rise, I saw that the grass had been flattened, as if a fawn had lain here.
“You okay?” Ricky called.
“Just clumsy.”
“Well, the direction sounds right.”
I looked at the thicket again and thought of a whole other kind of baby animal nestled in it. I took out my penlight to shine over the inside of the thicket. There, caught on a bramble, I found threads. Pale yellow ones. Like the kind that might be used for a baby blanket.
I called Ricky over and told him what I’d found. He crouched outside the thicket. When I saw he was looking at the ground, I shone my penlight there to see a footprint. A bare humanoid footprint.
I took the yellow threads and folded them into a piece of notepaper. As I was doing that, Ricky’s gaze swung toward the rock over the swimming hole.
“Hear something?” I whispered.
His lips compressed. I knew the look. He hadn’t necessarily seen or heard anything, but detected it with another sense, one that made him far less comfortable saying yes.
“Trust it,” I murmured.
He leaned toward me. “Keep talking,” he said, and then he cut through the thicket, crouched over as he moved.
“Okay,” I said. “So we’re not finding anything, and like you said, you aren’t sure what you heard. We could go back into the water, but it’s going to be freezing cold, and as much fun as that last encounter was, I’m not sure you’d enjoy an ice-water replay nearly as much.” I paused. Silence, as I’d expect—Ricky moves like a Huntsman, dead quiet in the woods.
I kept talking. “Although, on second thought, that might be an interesting experience. Cold water. Warm mouth. Tell you what, I say we just forget this whole thing and go for a swim. I can use more practice giving
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