In The Tall Grass ●

A small, pale handprint pressed into the soil. Child-sized.

“The rock moves,” Ross whispered, stroking the granite marker. “It follows you. It knows your name before you do. It already has your baby’s name, lady.” In The Tall Grass

Cal stopped trying to escape first. He sat down cross-legged, began braiding grass into a small, intricate doll. “It’s easier if you don’t fight,” he said, not looking at her. “The field just wants a story. A new one.” A small, pale handprint pressed into the soil

“I found a path!” he called, but his voice scraped—dry, wrong. ” Ross whispered

Help. Please, I’m lost. Just one step in. What’s the harm?