The Tangle Heart

Miette was still missing, and Thibault was not alone, whether he realized it or not.
The longer the absence stretched, the more the worry churned at Maleah's stomach. Miette was not her daughter, but she was always there. Always crowing over her shoulder, always watching with eyes wide as marbles; came to her with questions peeped in that childlike, wondrous tone. Attached at her hip. Maleah had even been considering making her an apprentice, of sorts, before she had been —
And Astera, too, was still gone. Gone, swept to sea, and the thought that they may perhaps never find her body ruptured the ever-growing crack in the calm façade.
The search was tireless. The seawolves spread out wider and wider, and still, there was nothing. Not a clump of hair or a trace of scent, not a print in the ruddy loam. And now Thibault had gone after her himself. He had gone into the tangle.
Thibault! his name became intermingled with the shrieks of Miette! and Sobeille! and Astera!; with him, at least, Maleah had a trail, and it sank deeper and deeper into the treacherous wild. Thibault, please!