They were dense, hushed, and threaded with roots that could catch anyone who stopped paying attention.
Elsie knew them well.
Her grandfather, Samuel Warren, had spent years walking her through them. He had once run a small self-defense school in town, and even after his knees gave out, his mind remained clear and sharp.
“A person who panics gives the problem more power,” he used to say. “Look first. Think second. Move third.”
Elsie remembered that when the dog stopped at the edge of a clearing.
He was staring upward.
