I found them in a swamp, but so far only a small number has been verified. We stray from the path, and the girl, without using either of her eyes, watches this from her mother’s back. If we were really on the verge of dying, I imagine I would feel my throat gasping for air and my extremities growing cold. I must calm down, I stumble along while sleeping; I am resigned to starvation even before the hunger hits me. How do we get home from here. There’s no mistake. Just ahead there, icicles are bundled and spread atop the water. Today, for the first time, I saw and heard the chirping of maybe about three birds. It was like a weak, pitiful moan, not quite like the howl of a dog or the sniffling sobs of a girl, but there must be quite a few of them around here. If I get close enough that I might step on one, it flies away. When I held still, it grew anxious, circled round and round, and then stopped on a gray oak tree.