I still didn't think it would happen — the drawn flintlock, Father taking one step, another step, one more, and then absence. Just mist where he had been. I think I cried out, but it may have been the screams of Mother, who was being held by Nasty Face as Old Joll did something to her that made her twist and writhe. She was turned away from me and my eyes were on the space where Father had been, on Gabriel coming back, his face moist with mist or tears. My mother made a terrible retching sound, then she was down on her knees, her face in her hands. Before her, on the grass, I saw the long, wet shape of her tongue.