They were silent, but knew they were all women by the softness they felt, easily bumping together along the invisible path. In due time came soft sighs of fatigue, and occasionally a gasp as someone stumbled over the broken trail. Immediate whispers of Are you all right? and let me help you broke the still air, and soon tiny chuckles of reassurance and warm-hearted sounds of camaraderie began to bounce off the surrounding flora.
Before very long, one woman, who'd been brushing the same elbow against hers for a good while, touched that companion and said, Let us stand aside and count our sisters as they pass. it is a good idea to know how many we are, that we might keep safe in this uncertain place. The other woman murmured assent, and they stepped to either side of the trail and gently touched each woman as she passed. The math was quickly done and the two women took their places, now at the rear of the traveling tribe.
At the front of the group, two different women now paraded as though with a purpose. One leant toward the other and whispered, Who touched me? Did someone touch you? The second one said, I think it was someone kind. I think it was one of our own number. The first woman was reassured, but cautious. She had felt a touch like that before which had not led to pleasant things.
The woods were well-trodden and the path was wide, and women were soon conversing in gentle tones about things that women know. Each woman seemed to have found a companion, a compeer whose sleeve she had grazed and whose hand she now clasped. In any number of cases, three or five or more women strode through the woods with arms linked, laughing and singing and sharing stories. Each story that was heard became a part of all the women's hearts, and each story one told became the property of the glad gathering.
By this time the moon had set, and the darkest part of the night was upon them, but still they walked on singing about sorrow and glee and patience and anger. One of the women felt her head begin pounding with the cheery ululations of the others, but she rubbed her head with one hand, determined not to disappoint the partner who held the other. The sturdy mob tripped often over roots and debris, but holding one another fast, none fell.
As the sun began to stir, began to consider its duty, in the slender minutes called madrugada in some places, the warmth of the still air and the closeness of the forest led the women to begin loosing their hands, and drying sweaty palms on their frocks. Some reached out to clasp their fellow travelers again, and found only empty air. They could hear the voices they knew, but the path was very wide now, and the women moved into newer, cooler spaces.
The woods broke into a clearing with the reddening of the horizon, and each woman squinted at the dawn, then turned to her friends, only to find a shadowy mob of unmet strangers. As the sun ascended, and eyes adjusted, each woman searched silently for her sisters, only to find hostile eyes of every hue, burning back with anger and suspicion. Where a constellation of shimmering stars had danced and mingled in unseen, clutching and clasping joy, only a vacant lot of reproachful, wretched harridans glared. Then they all turned their faces away.
