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[flowers_on_skin]

She still got up in the middle of the night, just once, to feed them but mostly to look at them, to lean on the edge of the cot and look down on them, her beautiful babies, her girls. She rolled out of her bed and walked in one of Mike's shirts (in case Peter was awake) across the room in the center towards the girl's room, trailing her fingers

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[m_pinocchio]

He's dreaming. It's one of his formless dreams, full of dark color and rushing sound and creeping, nameless dread. He's never sure if he hates them less or more than the dreams with faces, but he's twisting in it and at the sound of Eostre's voice he twists up and out of it, moving like he's trying, weakly, to fight the blankets.

It takes him a second or two to remember how to speak.

"What?" he forces out, still half in the dream. "Eostre... what's...?"

[flowers_on_skin]

She was freezing and Flo was wailing and Mike was waking up and Mack was still gone. There was a cold inside her that was making it hard to breathe.

"She's gone," she said. "Mack, Mike. She's gone, and I can't find her."

[m_pinocchio]

He blinks at her in the dimness of the cabin, uncomprehending, wondering for a moment if it's just another dream, and one of the worse ones. "What're you talking about?" he asks, noting with unease that she has Flo and that seems to be all. "What do you mean, she's gone?" He shakes his head, trying to wake up. "She's not even five months old, Eostre, she can't walk..."

[flowers_on_skin]

"I know that she can't walk, Mike," said Eostre, her voice going ragged for a moment before she actually managed to drag it back.

"And, if she can't walk, it means that somebody's taken her."