10

"Humans?" Ms. Clear says. "Maybe the Glass Walkers are closer to humanity's creations than other tribes, but we're not closer to individual humans, because individual humans are damn near worthless. And those old hillbilly families can't do anything."

"But can't—"

"And whatever we do," Ms. Clear says, "we're not doing it tonight. Or this morning, I should say. Let's get back to the car."

You're back to the car in a little over an hour. You scan the woods one last time, then glance at Ms. Clear, who is scowling ferociously at her phone.

"What?" you ask.

"My maps don't match," she says.

You pull out your paper map.

"No, no, that won't help," she says, showing you her phone. "Look: these are the lines I tracked as we went into the woods." They appear in red over the map. "And here they are going back." These appear in blue. They don't match. Or, rather, a few of the nodes, where they split up, match, but the lines themselves…

"They're moving," you say.

"This isn't a matter of a few days or even weeks of scouting," Ms. Clear says as she gets into her car. The Dobermans hop in the back, as excited as any other dog to go for a car ride. "Elton could summon every Stormcrow in the arsenal of his Patron Spirit while I sent Pattern Spiders crawling through the woods like an invading army, and I don't think we'd crack this. Shit! I'm sorry, excuse my language. This is frustrating. We need some way to narrow down the search area. If we can do that, we have a chance. But not until then."

Her expression is fixed in such a ferocious scowl of concentration that you don't dare interrupt her all the way back to your cabin. But when she parks out front, she says, "No, I don't see a clever hack that will make this easier. I'll look for one, of course. And so will our Bone Gnawer friend, I have no doubt. But I don't think there is one, except to narrow down the search area."

You nod, then crawl inside and immediately go to sleep, exhausted from your travels.

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