William's heart thundered alongside the roaring Tantalus. Murky water smashed fallen branches against hidden rocks, shooting splinters into the sky with a snap. This current would show no mercy, threatening to break bones as easily as it shattered trees' remains.

Emma paid the river no mind. She marched toward the riverbank alongside the other children with her head held high.

"Stay over there!" William's legs trembled as he fought the urge to run. Even if he sprinted straight to the church, none of the adults would get there in time to save the children who were already in the water. They'd be swept downstream, disappearing below the surface as suddenly as they'd vanished into the night all those months ago.

As it was, they'd already been changed for the worse.

Wherever Emma had been for the past year had not been kind to her. Caked-on dirt covered her arms, and her legs wobbled as if she'd just learned how to walk. Much like Tantalus River, her blue eyes held only harshness in their depths. Not even the faintest flicker of recognition met William's gaze, only cold determination.

Once the grass beneath her feet gave way to pebbles, she paused. Smiled. Leapt into the water with laughter bubbling from her lips.

William dove in after her.

The frigid current ripped a gasp from his lips, flooding his mouth with grit. One moment of surprise. That was all it took for the river to drag him into the frenzy of flailing children. An errant foot kicked him in the kidney. Fingers clawed at his arm.

An elbow crashed into his nose.

Cartilage gave way with a wet crunch. The river drowned out his scream.

Water seared down his throat. Crimson streamed from his throbbing nose alongside a trail of bubbles. Air. He needed air. William kicked against the riverbed, only to swim into a sea of thrashing limbs.

No, not thrashing. Pulling.

William broke the surface with a gasp. Blood ran from his nose as he coughed, filling his mouth with a coppery tang.

The children stared at him with blank expressions. They paddled through the river as effortlessly as if it were air, tugging him toward the shore.

"Emma," William croaked. A sputtering cough expelled water from his lungs. "Where is she?"

"She's fine." Little Peter Farnsworth had traded his lisp for a voice as cold as the water surging around them.

William followed his gaze to find his sister fighting against the current. She paddled forward with her eyes firmly fixed on the shore, her arms and legs thrusting in a steady rhythm as she propelled herself toward Hamelin. Only once she reached land did her earlier unsteadiness return. The children who had already made it across surged forward to support her as she hauled herself onto her feet, her legs wobbling beneath her.

William emerged from the river minutes later, spewing silt as he coughed into the mud. Not a single child moved to see if he was alright. They clustered together, surging forward as a group whenever one of the other children needed help getting to their feet.

Emma finally looked at William. She didn't call out to him, didn't run to him and crush him in a sobbing embrace. Instead, she approached him the same way she'd walk to Hamelin's one-room schoolhouse when it was her turn to haul firewood for the stove: shivering with her head bowed and her feet dragging.

"What were you thinking? If you'd drowned, I—" William's voice cracked as it caught in his throat. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing so tightly she let out a high-pitched squeak. "Everyone's been so worried! We thought you were..."

He couldn't finish that sentence. Even with Emma in his arms, the pain of losing her was still so raw it sent a fresh wave of tears running down his cheeks.

"I can swim now," Emma said matter-of-factly. She winced as she wriggled in his arms. "Too tight."

"Sorry!" William loosened his grip but kept a firm hold on her. He wouldn't let her out of his sight, not after it had taken so long to find her.

Now that he'd had a moment to get over the initial shock of seeing her again and nearly drowning himself, William looked Emma over to make sure she was truly alright. A patchwork of scrapes and bruises covered her legs, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for someone her age. The matted tangles in her hair were nothing careful combing and cutting couldn't fix. The children all looked like they'd gotten carried away playing outside, not like they'd just come home after being lost for a year.

"Where have you been?" William asked.

"I don't..." Emma squinted and scrunched up her nose. Then came the sniffling. The quiet kind punctuated by hiccups that told William she was dangerously close to sobbing. "I don't remember!"

"It's alright," William said gently. It had to be, at least for now. "Do any of you remember?"

The children shook their heads. "All we know is something pulled us away," Peter said. "One day, it told us to go home."

William shuddered. He knew that feeling all too well. How had he resisted that song's phantom pull when so many others couldn't? "At least you're home now. Everyone's been waiting for you."

###

The streets of Hamelin echoed with the sounds of children reuniting with their families. Tears of joy and relief replaced those of grief as black-clad townsfolk hugged sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, and brothers and sisters.

William and Emma shivered in their mother's embrace. Gone was the rush of warmth and energy from their struggle against the Tantalus. All that remained was the water soaking through their clothes.

"Take my coat, dear." Mother wrapped the garment around Emma's shoulders. "Shouldn't be long before we can get you in front of the fire, but this will have to do for now."

Emma's shuddering eased as she bundled herself in the fabric. She was still far too small to fit in any of her mother's clothes, but she no longer had to roll up the sleeves quite as high to let her hands peek out.

"Look at how much you've grown," Mother said, planting a kiss on her head. Eyes still red from the memorial, she dabbed at her cheeks with a handkerchief. "We've missed you so much."

"I missed you, too." The words tumbled out of Emma's mouth like rocks, cold and unfeeling as her arms hung limply by her sides.

"Here I was thinking we might not have any children by the end of the night, and we're coming home with two." Father fixed William with a look that made his stomach quiver. "I was starting to think you'd run off, boy. It's shameful enough you left in the middle of the memorial."

Mother winced. "Philip, he said he had to tune—"

Father raised his hand. "The boy's old enough to speak for himself."

William stared at his boots, his guitar weighing heavily against his back. "I'm sorry."

"You'd better be," Father snarled. "Made me look like a damn fool in front of the entire town."

William didn't say a word. Mother slipped his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. She understood. She always did.

At last, the four of them reached their humble home. Under Father's guidance, the fire roared to life, crackling greedily as it devoured a heap of wood. Emma's presence warmed the house more than the flames ever could, banishing the cold emptiness that had dominated her absence.

"It'll be some time yet before supper is ready." Mother gave Emma a quick kiss on the top of her head. "Why don't you rest in your room for a while? You must be exhausted after everything you've been through."

"I'm not tired. I'm hungry." Emma's stomach punctuated her assertion with a mournful moan.

"So are we, but we'll all have to wait." Father squeezed the bellows, feeding the fire a rush of air as the flames licked the bottom of the stew pot.

"It'll be ready faster if you help with the vegetables," William said. "Mr. Farnsworth's carrots are finally doing well again."

As Emma helped Mother chop the carrots, William peeled potatoes for their stew. Although the crops were recovering from the swarm of rats that had devastated the fields, their food stores had yet to return to their former glory. The leftovers would last them a couple days, but they'd soon need to replenish their pantry. His family had become accustomed to only shopping for three, and the addition of a ravenous seven-year-old meant the coppers Father brought home from the forge wouldn't last as long as they used to.

Mother may be able to fetch a fair price for the scarves she knitted and the coats she mended, but come winter, they would need all the money they could get to keep food on the table. William's stomach tossed as fitfully as the broth bubbling in the stew pot at the thought of laboring in the forge, surrounded by heat and the clanging of Father's hammer. He couldn't imagine a more horrible fate.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of thudding knives and crackling flames. Once the stew was ready, Mother ladled four heaping bowlfuls and carved each of them a thick slice of bread.

The instant everyone took their places around the table, Emma grabbed her spoon.

"Wait a moment, sweetheart," Mother chided gently. "We have to thank the Lord for everything He has provided us."

Emma put down her spoon with a scowl. Only when the other members of the family put their hands together in prayer did Emma follow suit, and even then she only had eyes for the food in front of her.

Father cleared his throat before starting, his deep voice rumbling like thunder. "Thank you, Lord, for this meal and for returning Emma to us at last. May we continue to be blessed with good fortune. Amen."

"Amen," the rest of the family echoed, with Emma trailing a few seconds after the others.

William took his first steaming spoonful of stew. Humble though it was, the hearty mixture of potatoes, carrots, and parsnips filled his stomach with warmth. The accompanying bread soaked up the lightly salty broth while still retaining a perfectly crisp crust. He savored each mouthful slowly, keenly aware of how lucky they were to enjoy food that had once been a distant memory.

Emma lacked any such restraint. She shoveled the stew down her throat before ripping a chunk of bread free, scarcely bothering to chew before cramming more into her mouth. The only pause in her ravenous lip smacking came when her tongue darted out to lick the crumbs speckling her face.

"Is that how we raised you to eat?" Father speared a potato with his fork. "I've seen better manners from swine."

"This might be the first proper meal she's had in a year," Mother said softly. "She must be hungry."

"That doesn't excuse her being ungrateful for all the work we put into providing for her. We barely had enough food for tonight's supper." There was that twitch in Father's arm. The one that said he was close to losing his temper.

"I can take her to the market the next time I go," William said hurriedly. "That will remind her of all the work we put in, and it would do her good to get reacquainted with the town."

"And you'll have an excuse to stay out of the forge, won't you? Such a fine example you set for your sister." Father snorted. "Very well. Our pantry is nearly empty, and you may as well take Emma with you."

"I can't wait to see everything!" A smile brightened Emma's face like sunlight breaking through the clouds after a thunderstorm.

"And I bet folks can't wait to see you," William said. The more who wished to welcome his little sister back to Hamelin, the longer he'd be able to avoid Father and the forge.