“You gave my husband to the Hag,” I ask disbelieving, rounding on Becuma. I wanted to tear her apart. “You gave my husband to the Hag?” Her eyes widen in fear as she takes a few steps back. Someone has taken hold of one of my arms. “Swappin’ babies and precious mouths! What about the life I want to carry!” I am going to claw out Becuma’s eyes and feed her tongue to the first rabid dog I can find. I lunge towards her only to be more firmly grasped from behind and lifted off my feet. I hear myself hiss rather than knowing that I am hissing. Becuma becomes one of the shadows as she stalks off. I struggle within the grasp. “No deer, no hare, or fish nor fowl,” I screech after Becuma. I want to blame her for this. I want to be happy. I wanted my husband to be here. This wasn’t fair. “Put me down.”

After a few more moments, I am let down. I take a seat on the cold ground. I watch nothing and hear everything, rocking with my knees drawn to my chest. Hungry bellies and thirsty knives is a sick song playing at this pathetic flame. Soon…very soon…this would change one way or the other…Soon we’d leave this empty plain…