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“What followed her stayed just out of sight in the woods and deep grasses. It was quiet. She was not sure what it waited for; it ought to have eaten her before she had walked so far with nothing but grubs for dinner. Her arms looked narrow, and even her hurt wrist looked thin. She thought, At my right hand Raím follows me in the mountain. He is a ghost; I am becoming a ghost. When I have walked to the end of the mountain he will be there, and I shall lie down against his shoulder, and stop walking, and be safe.” — Betsy James
What followed her stayed just out of sight in the woods and deep grasses. It was quiet. She was not sure what it waited for; it ought to have eaten her before she had walked so far with nothing but grubs for dinner. Her arms looked narrow, and even her hurt wrist looked thin. She thought, At my right hand Raím follows me in the mountain. He is a ghost; I am becoming a ghost. When I have walked to the end of the mountain he will be there, and I shall lie down against his shoulder, and stop walking, and be safe.