On the fifth day of their traveling and camping with Bombo just off Rat Road, Old Rat Road, they found the first signs of life since the cave at a place called Smith Apple Farm nearing the town of Mir. Following Bombo's lead, the boys pulled off to the side of the road and set up camp along the tree line, lit a fire and started dinner. While dinner smoked, Bombo headed onto the farm and did what he swore he did best, which was to barter.

  Dinner was deer, ferret and rabbits. They had caught one immediately after it had caught the other, and then they caught two more of the rabbit's friends and a deer. They also had potatoes and onions Bombo had picked up at Smith Apple Farm, which turned out to be more of a rural village than a farm; and beans, which he boiled in a small pot over the fire within a mix of water and ground cherry lily bush leaves.

  Next morning in the village, Bombo bought himself and both boys several sets of clothing and two rather large backpacks to carry not only all the new things he bought, but also some of the camping equipment he'd crafted along the way, which he refused to go without. In total, they toted pots, pans, salts, spices, medicines and extra flasks; wines, cutlery, trapping wires, ropes, utility knives, mallets, stakes, all-weather fabric and socks – lots of socks. As well as regular boots, he bought each of them a pair of knee-high boots and waterproof pants, for wading, three poles and several rolls of fishing lines, nets, and tackle. They were loaded up like donkeys – Bombo, of course, bearing the largest load – which inspired Frem to come up with a new plan, one he planned on pitching to Windston just as soon as he got the chance.

  The chance came two nights later when Bombo left camp to find what he swore was a waterfall he could hear from somewhere northeast. He wanted a shower alone in the moonlight.

  “So hey, new plan,” Frem said to Windston, who was seated on a log he'd cut from a stump and carried over to the fire. “We go off on our own for a bit every day until we find bandits or whatever. We kill the bandits, take all their treasure, and then, ya know, lose Bombo.”

  Windston, who really liked Bombo by now, cocked his head and lowered his eyebrows. “Wait; why do you wanna leave Bombo?”

  “Uh, because he sucks?”

  “I thought we were gonna stick with him till the Twins. You were the one that said that.”

  Frem sighed, exasperated. “No, that's what he said, and you said yes. I didn't say anything.”

  “Whoa,” Windston said, wincing at the definite lie. There was a brief pause during which he just stared at the fire. “I don’t get why you wanna leave him so bad.”

  “Oh, I don't know. He sucks, like I said. He's annoying. He's always lecturing me with these stupid songs, bossing both of us around? He acts like he's in charge? He slows us down? Plus, I don't really know if I could ever trust him with the dragon thing. I feel like, if we told him about the dragon thing – you know, the big plan, the reason we're going north to begin with – he'd say we're being very bad boys and try to make us stop.”

  Windston had been planning on arguing that Frem had been anything but nice to Bombo, but he nodded instead when he realized something. “I do miss running. A lot. And jumping around.” He was looking at his backpack, which lay there beside the longer of two logs across from him. “I like all this stuff he bought us, but we're pretty slow now.”

  “I think that was Bombo's plan all along,” Frem said with a scowl. “He hates running. I can tell.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Windston said. “Buy us stuff just to slow us down.”

  “It was his plan all along,” Frem said, snapping his finger, ignoring Windston. “And I can't stand him for it. I haven't had wings for days. Feels like we've been crawling, crawling like old men. You know, I'm really glad you pointed that out,” Frem said, pointing at Windston. “I'm glad we're feeling the same way about this. About Bombo.”

  “I like Bombo.”

  “The only downfall about leaving,” Frem said, still ignoring Windston, “is the food.”

  “The food is good,” Windston agreed.

  “Right?” Frem asked. “I'm glad we're on the same page with everything.”

  They sat in silence after that, staring at the flames. Bombo always dug a bit of a pit before he started a fire. He set sticks all along the bottom, and then lined sticks all across them. Next, he gathered bigger logs and placed them on top until they were flush with the ground. He lined the edges with rocks when there were enough in the area. He was very organized, very neat, and always made camp look about the same, no matter where they decided to stay for the night. The consistency was nice, the routine. They always slept just after the sun set and awoke before it rose. Because of that, they always got plenty of sleep. This was after engorging themselves nightly on delicious foods and finishing things off with honeycombs. It was healthy, as much for the mind as for the body. Whether Windston understood all of that or not was not necessarily the matter; the truth was that, deep down, he felt like it was probably for the best that they stuck with Bombo for a while, at least until they left the garden, if not the entire forest. Who said Bombo would even want to stick around with them after that? He was obsessed with Boulder. As if he would care what they were doing after they parted ways. He'd probably forget all about them.

  Bombo came back not much later. He had indeed found a waterfall. He smelled like musky oils and dried and ground kettleberry fern fruits.

  He took a seat across from the boys, on a much wider log than theirs. He sighed and smiled at them. Only Windston smiled back; Frem was too busy sighing and rolling his eyes.

  “How nice it is,” he said, “to have a night full of stars, light winds, and a clean body. This is after a good meal of meat and a bit of fresh water.”

  The mention of stars drew Windston's attention upward. His eyes immediately locked with the red star's, although he hardly noticed, what with how often he stared at the darn thing.

  “I remember many nights like this,” Bombo said. He sighed. “Many, many nights I spend in this wild world west and others,” he said. “In the east. In the north. In the south. Further west. Here again in the forest. And again. And again. I make my rounds, but still, I search. A hundred years. More years than this.”

  “For Boulder,” Frem sighed. Everyone was sighing. He rolled his eyes again too, and Windston wondered if they were getting sore from all the exaggerated frustration. “You're an ancient hunter, hunting for a dangerous giant.”

  “Yes, for this man Boulder. This giant man.” He stood. “Bombo is big. Boulder is bigger. He is from distant lands. He leads an army of bandits, always on the move, always scouring where they go. I must have told you both many times how he steal from me before he kills my family.”

  “Many, many, many, many times,” Frem said.

  “I don't remember,” Windston said. “You can say it again if you want.” He was smiling at Frem, who gave him a seething look back.

  “We have much riches in the east, beyond the sands that separate us there from you here. There is gold in the hills, pearls in the lakes, and diamonds in the mountains of my country. The animals feed on the fields, the crocodiles lie in the rivers, and the lions on the lands. We have no scary bird monsters, bears or wolves. But we have dangers. There are no giant men like in Kreuger; but giants in the grass and in the ponds. Elephants, hippos, rhinos, giraffes, and buffaloes. There are eagles in the skies, and vultures, and buzzards. We have many flowers by the riverside, and farmlands, and pastures where the creatures hunt and graze. Outliers live in nature, in hut villages. We have cities with splendid stone towers, mansions and mansions, palaces, and the great pyramids are there of old from ancient peoples' now gone. To the dead we honor with towers made only to honor them. To our ancestors, like gods, we carve their image in stone. We share, and we give, to honor our neighbors. We make peace when we can, and fight when we can't. We are a great kingdom of kingdoms. It is like this for thousands of years. No, more. After the greatest war, when our peoples clashed with one another. We make peace and we keep it.

  “But then come Boulder and his men. In the night, they attack. Always in the night. They ride swift boats that bear horseman with bows and arrows. They burn without concern for who they burn. In a moment, a peaceful town is full of cries and ashes. Blood spills from the innocent, and riches are plundered. When they leave, they leave a sickness that ravages survivors. I lose my father and my mother to this disease. Our kingdom divides back into tribes. When Boulder comes back, they bring more. Rats and roaches, disease and lice they leave us. We are so sick we don't fight – we can't fight. We run, and we hide.

  “But I get better. I get better and we prepare. We find medicines and hoard them. We find foods and stuff our cellars. We barricade and we wait. There is no return. For ten years there is peace, and all across the world my scouts find bandits but no boats, no horsemen, no giant warrior king. We believe we suffered once but never again. We let down our defenses and plan for peace. But Boulder returns.

  “My army fights and many are spared. But there is the attack led by Boulder during battle. My queen, and my boy, and my girls are all killed. Bombo is in the battlefield, fighting Boulder's men. He returns home to find many woes. No wife. No boy. No girls. It is all gone. And the man who killed them stands before me wearing the crown like the head of a black lion, and with a cape of its black mane. This treasure he plunders from the great temple! He steals the artifact at the center of the greatest war! He, Boulder, wears the crown of my kingdom as he plunders it! And he stands there in defiance while Bombo is in chains! He leaves him lying there... I cannot even move. He leaves me with a smile and a laugh. He leaves me with nothing!” Bombo, who had been standing at this point, stomped his stump into a splintering mess as he heaved in and out.

  Windston had been chuckling so hard his eyes were lines, but only because he had successfully used Bombo to get back at Frem. Frem was chuckling too. Bombo either didn't notice, or didn't care.

  He slammed his fist on that thick log beside Windston's bag this time, and it broke in two. The boys winced as splinters showered them. Bits of grass and mud fell too.

  But their eyes had found something more interesting to look at than Bombo when the dust settled. There, behind Bombo, who was flexed in a posture of rage, was a very wide-eyed girl with hair that looked almost yellow in the firelight, one who had probably never seen a man Bombo's size obliterate a log.

  Before the boys could say anything, she was gone.

  It was at that very moment that Windston felt a funny feeling that moved from his head down to his feet. It was a sweeping feeling, one of fatigue, and it was only the second time he'd ever felt it.

  “He's a menace,” Bombo continued, ignoring Frem's outstretched arm and pointing finger. “A disgraceful plunderer!” he growled over Windston's Buts and Waits. “I will kill this man!” he wailed, stomping some more. “I will find him, and I will make him die!”

  “The girl,” Frem said.

  “What is it?” Bombo said, turning and looking over his shoulder at where both boys still pointed.

  “There was a girl,” Frem said.

  “A pretty girl,” Windston coughed.

  “What?”

  “She had golden hair and a dirty face,” Frem said. “She was sickly and gross, not at all pretty. But she ran that way.”

  “Alone? In the dark?”

  “Yes!” they both said.

  “Ah!” Bombo yelled. “It is dangerous here in the dark! I see eyes on my way to the falls! Wolves eyes!”

  Just then, there was a howl off in the distance. Of course, there had been howls all night. Only, now that the howls were of a danger to someone, they were noticed.

  Another responded.

  And another, in a triangle.

  “Boys!” Bombo yelled. “We must find this girl!”

  Frem rolled his eyes, but Windston was already gone. He leapt upward, toward the moons, and landed down in a thick patch of grass. He heard Bombo trampling brush behind him. But there was no longer a need for haste. Windston had found them. The girl, three boys, and two other girls. They were huddled together in a circle in the grass, and Windston had landed directly between them all.

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  He stood to his full height just as Bombo was approaching from behind. Before he spoke, Bombo did.

  “Oh my,” Bombo said. “Oh my, oh my, oh my. Oh me oh my. So many children in the wilds at night. Why is this? Why are you here?”

  The oldest girl, who was around Windston's age, was the only one standing. The others were all lying about around her. She swallowed and tapped at her throat. What came out of it was very raspy, very weak, very quiet. “We're lost.”

  “No,” Bombo said. “You are not lost now.” He stepped closer to the group. He was a massive silhouette in the moonlight, but he spoke softly. “You have food to eat and water to drink. This is all while Bombo finds medicines. Come. Come to the campfire to warm up like the smart girl does before she get scared. Come now. Bombo will help. Windston will help. And Frem. We are nice. Come.”

  The children didn't move until the oldest one did. When she headed past Windston to follow Bombo, the others did the same.

  “Big Bombo take you to the fire,” he sang, “take you to the heat. Warm your clothes a dry, give you foods to eat.” At the fire he held an arm out, as if to display the splendor, and all with a grand smile of pearly white teeth. “We need to dry off, we need to eat up. It's hard to feel better lying in the mud. The blankets are here, the pillows are too. A tent will go up, and so will the moons.” He stopped singing and beckoned the children to sit on Frem's and Windston's log.

  “You sit there, and we get the bowls. We fill them with soup. Deers. Rabbits. Potatoes. Onions. Mmm. So good. So, so good for you.” He handed out bowls and served up the steaming soup. “You like soup?” he asked one. “Soup is good, no?” he asked another. “Here we are. More soup.”

  Windston watched, but also kept an eye out for Frem, who was nowhere to be found.

  The children slowly ate. They had difficulty swallowing and grimaced when they did so.

  That sinking feeling returned. Windston wiped his forehead; it was dotted with sweat.

  “You eat that soup and then you sleep. When you wake up, more soup to eat. Then we talk, we ask questions. We find out why children restless.”

  The oldest girl smiled weakly and some of the other children did too.

  “Yes,” Bombo said. “I'm Bombo, this is Windston, and we have one more companion; he is called Frem. And he is as blue as the sky. Really. It's true. We are all friends. This is true too.”

  He assured them like this sporadically. He was very attentive to them, and also to the environment. Windston wasn't sure why, but there were valid reasons. Bandits are slavers as much as they're bandits, and they don't care a lick about age. Children are probably the best slaves anyway as far as slavers are concerned, because they have so much life ahead of them, and they can be taught.

  Aside from bandits, there are other considerations. The wolves, of course. But also feathered drakuls, werewolves, werebears, tigers, cougars, coyotes, wild dogs, snakes, and any other number of things could be out there. Ghosts. The forest is no place to mess around in at night, and having vulnerable people around really brought the fear of that to the surface of Bombo's mind. He obsessed about it.

  He got no sleep because of that. Windston hardly did either, but mainly because the children coughed hoarsely one after another and Frem still hadn't shown up.

  Frem was out flying around looking for bandits. This whole child situation was the last straw for him, and he meant to carry out his new plan and force Windston into it if he had to.

  By morning, dewy and a bit sore from lying on the hard ground all night, Windston rose, yawned and stretched as a gust blew and the sun rose orange in an otherwise yellow sky. The smaller children were asleep. The older girl was sitting across from and talking to Bombo, who was heating up medicine he'd concocted from a variety of ingredients he'd found during the night.

  They were in mid conversation. She was Lily, the daughter of a castle seamstress in Mirra. She had just finished explaining to Bombo that everybody throughout the city had fallen ill weeks ago. Most died, and none had gotten better. More strangely, though, was that, two weeks after the outbreak began, a hooded stranger with a swirl for a face appeared and walked calmly through town carrying what looked like a giant grub. He carried it in his arms like a man carries a dog. As he passed by, many who were sick immediately died, while others who were hardly sick anymore at all fell gravely ill again. He made his way all the way from the bottom level of town to the top and settled in the castle. No one has seen him since.

  More oddly than that, even, was that worms began to fall from the sky like rain.

  Bombo listened intently as she told her tale.

  Windston listened too, only less intently as he found himself distracted with what felt like a tickle deep inside his throat. He coughed. And then he coughed some more.

  “We left when everyone else died. The city stinks. There's no food. And the only good water to drink is in the lake, and it's covered in black bugs. We headed south along the road. I was trying to find Mir. But we got chased off the road by a barking dog. I found you in the waterfall. I followed you here.”

  “This is very sad,” Bombo said.

  The girl buried her face in her hands. “I saw my mom before I left. She had come back alive and followed me. She stinks, and her eyes-” she stopped short, and sobbed harder. “Her eyes fell out!” she squeaked.

  Bombo didn't say anything. He lifted his head and peered down at her from a great height. Finally, he said, “I think there must be a witch doing this. A sorcerer with evil magics.”

  “I wanna,” Windston began, but he coughed violently instead.

  Bombo looked at him curiously, as did the girl.

  “I wanna... tell you something,” Windston coughed.

  “Are you sick?” Bombo asked. “Drink this. Here.”

  Windston nodded and took the cup Bombo handed him. It steamed and smelled sweet. He chugged it down. “I think I know what happened. I've seen worms like that. They fell from the sky. It was just before we fell in that cave, Bombo. They killed Fester. I told you about him, right? Our bandit friend. How he died? And how I got really sick?”

  “Yes,” Bombo said. “I remember. But I do not feel this way,” he said. “I feel fine and healthy. But maybe this is only now. Maybe tomorrow, Bombo is sick too.”

  “I don't know,” Windston coughed. “But I also don't care if I'm sick,” he coughed some more. “Evil... must be... stopped! And that swirl-face man is it! He is evil!” He stood, very much acting like Bombo acts when discussing Boulder. “I will kill this... freaky man! This very freaky, scary man! Or I will die trying!”

  “What freaky man?” Bombo asked.

  “I was warned about a man who looked like a thumb,” Windston said. “By a good dear friend of mine. My best friend. King Frank. Only, he doesn't look like a thumb. Not at all. I don't know where he got that… maybe because his face is very swirly. To me, he looks like... like if death was a man. He's scary, even to me. Very, very scary.”

  The girl was staring at Windston, who was still standing, but who had also started flexing his arms at his sides.

  “He said I had to... kill this freak or....” But he couldn't finish without coughing.

  “I do not understand,” Bombo said. “What are you saying?”

  “I don't know,” Windston said, “it was... he had a dream, but... I can't remember. It feels like a long time ago.”

  Bombo looked very confused as he looked away from Windston and at the girl, whose face was expressionless. She looked dead tired.

  Windston lifted his shirt and showed them both the red spot where the venom had pooled on him and slid down his side. “This still burns,” he said, “and itches. But I think it's getting better.”

  “What?” Bombo asked. “I am so confused.”

  “There's this swirl guy,” Windston began; but he shook his head, coughed a whole bunch, and finally let his arms drop at his side as a tell that he'd given up. “Don't worry about it, Bombo. I can't talk right now. But I know what I have to do.” He was looking around for his pack, most particularly for his sword, which he found wrapped in rolled and bound leather Bombo had bought specifically for Windston in order to hide his sword.

  He loaded up and fastened rope to the bindings on the leather so that he could wear his sword over his arm so it would dangle mostly out of his way.

  “I'm so confused,” Bombo said with a sigh. “Are you leaving?”

  Windston coughed and nodded.

  Bombo didn't say anything, but he was feeling something like terror at the thought of being left alone with what he knew was a dying group of kids. “You really leave me just like that? Right now?”

  Windston shrugged. “I have to,” he said.

  Bombo stared at the fire before dismissing him with a single wave.

  “Thanks for everything, Bombo.”

  Bombo said nothing, as he was too baffled to speak.

  Windston leapt.

  Words cannot describe the relief he felt as he bolted skyward.

  His elation didn't last long. After several miles, he landed. He’d seen several trees wrapped in what looked like spider web. He realized, now, that he was surrounded by such trees.

  The substance he’d noticed was spider web, or at least something just like it. It was gray and sticky, very strong.

  He clambered up the trunk of one. There was a shriveled corpse in it. It was half-flayed, from feet to waist, and its bottom end was opened, split from front to back. Protruding from the split was an equally shriveled worm, as big around as a human thigh.

  Windston, in a sudden start, let loose his grip and fell crashing to the forest floor. From there, on the ground, he looked above him and saw that every tree was swaying, despite that there was no wind.

  He coughed and, when he did, a hand jutted through one wrapped bough.

  A shiver ran down his spine. The hand was grey and purple, still and stiff. But then it suddenly moved, and the movement was inhumanly sporadic, each motion like a flicker.

  He stood, unwrapped his sword, headed toward that tree.

  It was a young oak, its branches only strong enough to support an adult human being twenty or so feet up.

  It looked as though it was freshly wrapped, as there were no little creatures stuck in the boughs, and the webs were fresh and white.

  The hand was no longer visible, and the only sign that it had been there was a sheet of webbing like hair, swaying ever so gently apart from the rest in a gentle breeze.

  Windston reached for a lowly branch and pulled himself up. He walked its length to another tree and slowly climbed it, knowing any moment would bring forth something so scary, he'd be forced to flee or made to fall.

  Higher, nearer to the web, he stopped. Something within the web had moved, perhaps a figure. It moved too quickly to know for sure.

  He continued upward, slowly, and paused. It was a figure, a human figure; it was a woman with sandy hair, and she was clearly visible as she passed an opening in the webbing.

  She passed by again and sealed that area. She was walking backward – or skittering, really. She was defying gravity. She was agile, and bug-like.

  Closer still, the shape passed by again. She was going round and round the bough, tirelessly. She was moving at a very consistent pace. She was so focused, she clearly had no idea Windston was there.

  Suddenly, she stopped. She stopped in view as a silhouette, a shadow behind the web.

  She moved again, only slowly. She moved in a way that looked more like clumsy waddling rather than scurrying. She was dragging something – her hind end. She was...

  “Spraying web and laying eggs,” Windston said with a shudder. He’d seen bugs do the latter in Zephyr; she was dragging her hind end and leaving clumps behind her.

  He shuddered again and fell again, this time from a misstep; he thought a branch was closer than it was.

  There, on the ground, he coughed and coughed and coughed. His throat was on fire, and his body ached badly, and for the first time. Liquid poured from his nose and eyes, and then his ears.

  “Oh my gosh,” he said, suddenly dizzy.

  He coughed more, and noticed black powder came spewing out when he did.

  He looked all over for the leather binding, for his sword, but couldn't find it. He escaped the area instead. He simply ran north, and then west. He didn't feel like jumping; or, at least, he felt like jumping would be too hard.

  He lumbered around, covering his nose and mouth. He lumbered around until he passed out surrounded by webbed trees.

  When he awoke, his eyes burned, and his throat throbbed, and his skin was hot, flushed where it wasn't pale.

  He crawled, and moaned, and groaned, and somehow found his sword.

  Frem found him not too long after. Windston had been swinging his sword around at what appeared to himself to be giant scheming roaches, his sword glowing brightly green. Frem, of course, saw no roaches at all. Instead, he saw nothing, as there was nothing around.

  He calmed Windston with a swift kick to the back.

  He moved around him and hoisted him onto his shoulders. In that way, he ran Windston away from the infested patch of woods. They headed west, toward Mirra Lake.

  Halfway there, Windston coughed less and eventually wrestled his way free. He began to tell Frem what he had seen, but Frem interrupted with a similar story.

  “It's disgusting,” he said. “I really don't want anything to do with it.”

  Windston shook his head. “But we have to,” he said. “To kill that thing, the guy we both saw, without a face.”

  Frem nodded slowly. “I hear what you're saying,” he said, “but I don't know why you're saying it,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Because,” Windston said. “I hate Zephyr.” He stopped and dropped all his things and shook his hands out in frustration. He was very pale, and his lips were bluish, and his eyes were swollen and red. “But no matter what I hate or why, I love my buddy, Frank. I do. I love that guy, and all his little birds. And I just know that...” He stopped, coughed. “I just know that he's gonna die if I don't kill this thing. Or, he's probably already dead. He probably is. I bet he is.” He stopped and puked.

  Frem nodded slowly. “Windston,” he said, “don't you think he's definitely dead? Like, no question? The guy's dead?”

  Windston spit thick strings of puke drool and swallowed nothing. He stared at Frem hard for a moment, and then he shut his eyes, which leaked tears. “I don't know,” he admitted, his bottom lip jutting, quivering. His whole body started trembling. He covered his eyes with his forearm and walked away.

  Away from Frem, he let it all out. All the coughs, all the cries, and all the fear he had inside. He puked more too.

  Frem just sat where he was, listening, a mixture of bored, impatient and disgusted. He scanned the trees for signs of worms or wormy-human-things. There was nothing, only web everywhere; and the air was thick with black, powdery sick stuff that seemed to rain up from the ground and into the sky in flurries.

  He looked up for balloons, and down for scurrying grubs. He was itchy all over, and sweating, and edgy.

  Windston returned not too much later. “I left Bombo by himself with those sick kids. I don't know why. I felt so enraged. And then I felt excited. I want to kill this worm person thing. I want to cut off its swirly head.” He paused and looked upward at the star. It was beaming extra brightly despite the rising sun.

  Frem just sighed, regretting ever punctuating the bird man's swirl face story with his own. “I just want to get out of this stupid forest and plant my dragon eggs.” He stood and sighed again, this time letting out a tone of frustration at its trail. “I feel like maybe I have to obliterate this forest first, for you. If I blow it all up, can we leave it?”

  Windston lifted his head and looked at Frem. “You could, couldn't you?”

  Frem nodded. “Yeah. But where's Bombo? Where's the dumb kids? Right?” He shrugged.

  Windston nodded. “Good point,” he said. “I'd never forgive you if you blew up Bombo.”

  “I mean, I don't have any problem blowing them up,” Frem began. “But you just… it seems like you guys insist on holding me back.”

  Windston ignored him. He was pretty sure Frem was just fronting an unfeeling persona to come across as cool.

  He wasn't. But he wasn't above compromise.

  They settled on killing the swirl-face. To do so, they settled on hurrying to the lake. They'd get to the shore and work their way north. The logic was that it was unlikely worms or worm people would have any interest in infesting water.

  They were wrong.

  Bombo and co. was in no better shape. He had taken a more easterly route toward Mir. The girl had said she had family there, as did some of the other sick kids. But two of the kids had died that morning, and another was unresponsive and heaving as if he was going to die as well. Bombo couldn't believe it, but he wept bitterly burying the first two. Maybe it was on behalf of the remaining children, who appeared to see themselves in the dead.

  His sadness didn't last, as the two would begin unburying themselves before the dirt could so much as settle over them.