Luna had made some friends. Especially once the Waterfolk realized that her family name was Saturniidae. There had been whispering and sad long looks, then a meeting was called after which a family group, the Celastrinas, had taken her into their fold. Luna had never met them or even heard of them, which suddenly made the world seem really too, too big.

They had a niece, Charm, who was a little older than Luna and was okay to talk to, but she supposed the real reason they adopted her was because they had a son, Springer, who was seventeen.

They probably hoped Luna would be a good match.

Springer was goofy and young and barely able to speak two words to her. Some of the time it was funny, but it was also terrifying, that this might be it. That Beckett might never come for her. That he might be gone and this, this pen, this family of strangers, this ankle deep mud, this simpering teen boy, might be her life from now on.

She was sitting with Springer and Charm, in their matching cage clothes, discussing the dampness, the mud, and then they had segued into the bigger conversation — how long they had been there, when would they get to leave — then they circled back to the complaints, because that bigger conversation was too difficult, so completely out of their control, that it couldn’t be discussed for long without really freaking everyone out.

Luna had been locked up there for three nights already. Three uncomfortable nights, with thin blankets on the ground. No one slept well, and these were Waterfolk, they were used to the light sleep of the ocean. But the deep ocean was a known. This was awful, the fearful sleep of the unknown.

So far Luna’s days had been dry, but she read the sky, rain was eminent. As the wind rose, they moved to the far end under the tree cover. They wrapped in blankets and huddled. It was already very muddy there. The mud was starting to really piss her off.

All they needed to do was break out of here and run for it, in the direction of the ocean. But they also needed their paddleboards and didn’t have a clue where they were stored. And not everyone could climb over the fence. But really who was Luna kidding that barbed wire made it dangerous for anyone to try.

This was what Springer and Charm and Luna were discussing — how a human would get through barbed wire at the top of a tall fence, when a commotion happened. Some lady with a shock of green hair and colorfully floral shirt, was waddling down the slope from the administration offices to the pen, yelling about something and gesturing wildly. She was followed by a tall man jogging, his briefcase swinging as he tried to keep up.

A few men left the huddle to meet her at the door, but then one rushed back, “She’s carrying on about a Luna, but insists the last name is Stanford, is she someone you know?”

Luna dazedly said, “Oh! Maybe?”

She walked across the pen to the door followed by Springer and Charm and the other curious Waterfolk who were willing to risk the wet because it had begun to sprinkle a bit.

The woman panted, “Are you Luna dear — Luna Saturnidodod um, Stanford — or something?”

Luna said, “Yes, that’s me?”

“Oh thank heavens, we found you! Oh dear — I’m Aunt Chickadee, Beckie sent me.” She wiped her eyes on the hem of her t-shirt exposing a bunch of doughy mid-flesh. “We found you — oh, you’re such a beauty.” Aunt Chickadee hooked her fingers through the fence. “Come here for a second, dear.”

It was odd to be so comfortably addressed by this complete stranger, not unlike waking up in that tent with Sky staring at her, but somehow Luna convinced her feet to move forward.

Chickadee explained again, “Beckett sent us, Dear.”

“Is he okay?’

“Yes he’s fine, he’s in jail, but he’s fine. My lawyer, Roscoe,” she gestured toward the tall man standing beside her, “says he can get him out in a few days.”

Luna looked at the ground. “Good.” It was good news. It just seemed very separate from her own ordeal — standing ankle deep in mud in the sprinkling rain, locked up, with no idea why.

Chickadee asked, “Do you have food, dear? Do you have water?”

A lump rose in Luna’s throat, “There’s food, but there’s a baby — a woman is breastfeeding and a child who’s sick —” The tears came, they spilled over and streamed down her face.

Chickadee clutched the fence tighter. “Oh dear, dear, dear, dear, Roscoe are you hearing this?”

Roscoe nodded slowly. He stepped back judging the length and width of the pen.

Chickadee said, “You stay put dear, Aunt Chickadee is going to get you released, okay?”

Luna nodded sniveling.

Chickadee stalked up the hill to the building. “Roscoe, follow me!”