"You want me to what?" Elsie choked, her eyes wider than the wheel of the barrel that Newt currently steered. Things were different between them now. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was a definite tension between them that lingered. They both did their best to ignore it, but it was always in the back of her mind whenever he was close.

"Come on, greenie." Newt gestured at the barrel, and to the pig carcass it toted. "Look, all the hard work's been done. You didn't even have to watch it die."

Her mouth popped open and closed several times as she tried to express the emotions flitting through her, but the words just wouldn't come. "Absolutely not," she settled on, unable to look at the protruding ear of the pig for too long. It was the only part visible to her, and Newt wheeled it closer so he could talk to her easier.

They were at a bit of an impasse, if wasn't already obvious. Today she'd been promptly thrown into work at the Bloodhouse. She stood in the pin of the goats, minding her own business—becoming acquainted with Charlie, who'd been the goat that hitched a ride in the box that deposited them in the Glade. She had taken to calling said box Jack in the Box, a reference to the toy that winds up and makes a clown pop out. She was pretty pleased with the joke, and the goats seemed to enjoy it well enough, but when they caught wind of the barrel, they dashed off so fast they almost knocked her over. It alarmed her, to say the least. Now she began to share their sentiment.

"Greenie." Newt's voice was low, like he was speaking with a child who refused to take their bath, and not trying to convince her to help him butcher that pig. "You've got to do your part."

"First of all, I am." She gestured behind her to the skittish goats. "Can't I just feed the livestock?"

"Well, that's not going to take all day, is it?" He raised an eyebrow at her in challenge and she crossed her arms.

"Listen to me, Newt." She leaned forward to emphasize her point, her tongue curling around each word slowly. "Not. In a million. Years." His eye twitched, and she leaned back, her nose in the air. "Throw me in the pit if you have to, but that pig will not be cut open by my hand."

"Why the shuck not?" Newt all but whined in his deep tenor, which nearly made her smirk. "He's already been drained, so there won't be blood. He's already been washed. He's all ready to be hung up. Really, all you're doing is—"

"No!" Elsie interrupted, drawing a few curious stares from passing Gladers. "Forget about it. Why does it matter anyway? It's safe to say that I won't ever be a Slicer! I can barely even look at—oh my god, are they always that hairy?" She frowned, bending forward to get a better peek at the surprisingly furry ear of the hog. Its hair was sparse, but seemed course and rough in texture. Somehow, that made it worse.

Newt stared at her strangely. "…Have you ever even seen a pig before?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I dunno. I can't remember." And it was true. In spite of her strange tendency to remember absolutely useless bits of information, when it came to barn animals she was pretty clueless. It seemed that whatever her life consisted of before the Glade, it didn't involve barn animals.

Newt looked amused against his will. He glared at her. "Sometimes I wonder if you do that on purpose," He muttered, looking down at the pig for a moment. "…Fine," He relented, seeming to use up every ounce of resolve he had to grind the word out.

Pleased that she'd won the argument, she rocked on her heels to await further instruction. Newt glanced over his shoulder and seemed at a loss with what to do with the pig, before finally sighing again and turning back to her. He almost looked embarrassed to have to go back and admit defeat.

"I'll go pass Henry off to Winston." He muttered something else under his breath, but she couldn't quite catch it.

"What was that?" She teasingly called, and he flipped her off as he steered the pig back towards the front of the Bloodhouse. This time she really did laugh, and Newt sped up to escape the sound.

Elsie looked down at Charlie, who had apparently decided it was safe to rejoin her at the edge of the pin. He nipped curiously at her shoes, and she smirked down at him. "He'll get over it." She reached down and patted the top of the black and white goat, trying not to think too hard about how much the animal stank.

She readjusted the handle of the bucket draped over her uninjured forearm and gently nudged Charlie out of the feeding trough so she could dump more food in. He bleated happily and eagerly shoved the bucket out of his way so he could get to the small pellets, and she shoved back since he was making a mess.

The bandage on her wrist prevented her from using that hand too much, but she still used it to push Charlie's head back—which was more difficult than she thought it would be. "Quiet down," She scolded, eyeing the goats on the other end of the pin. "Do you want them to come over here?" He bleated noisily again, clearly not catching a word she said. "You'll have to share! And it'll make a bigger mess—ugh, cut it out—" Charlie actually hopped up on the trough, his front legs buried deep in the feed so he could stick his snout in and hog it all.

"Fattie," she growled. She gently nudged his swollen belly and quickly backed away from the trough. It didn't take long for the other goats to figure out what was going on, and they seemed a bit miffed to not have realized it sooner. A duel ensued between Charlie and another white and brown goat, both trying to stake a claim over the entire trough.

She snorted condescendingly and a perky little grey goat followed as she trudged back to the food, sticking the empty bucket down into the feed so it's easy to locate for the next meal. She figured it was common courtesy to do so, considering how far she'd had to go to hunt down the bucket to use herself. She closed up the feed and lugged it off the ground. Her wrist twinged in protest because it was a much heavier load than she'd anticipated. The little grey goat let out a haughty sound of discontent as she lifted the food out of its reach to shove it far back on a table.

"Come on then," Newt called from the gate of the pin. He held a shovel and waggled a pair of tall rubber boots at her. "New job!"

What job in a barn requires tall rubber boots and a shovel? Somehow, she knew she didn't want to find out. She stepped over the tiny goat that still nipped peevishly at her toes for not giving it more food.

"They didn't take the news well, I see," she smartly commented, stopping at the fence to prop her elbows up and tilt her head curiously at the blonde.

The smile on his cheeks widened to produce twin dimples, and there was a glint in his blue eyes that looked positively vengeful. That can't be good.

"Oh, klunk," she muttered. "They really didn't take the news well, did they?"

"I tried to tell you." Newt shook his head and limped over to the gate to prop it open and motion her out. She barely stepped beside him before he quickly shut it—ever mindful of the rambunctious goats inside. It would probably be a nightmare to try and catch one if it got loose, so his caution was understandable. "But you and your sissy reservations have really landed you ankle deep." His arm swung around and the boots thudded against her torso roughly, and he looked up to meet her gaze. "And I do mean that literally, greenie. You've got cleaning duty."

She had to shovel the animals' klunk. Lovely.

"Well," She sniffed, struggling not to wrinkle her nose and make too much of a fuss about her predicament. She'd already flat out refused one task, and she wasn't so sure he'd be so lenient if she tried it again. "Let's get to work, shall we? The sooner we—"

"Ohhh no," Newt smirked. "Not we. You. You've got cleaning duty."

She found that any retort was sucked from her mind. She gawked at him as he continued.

"I've got to go to a meeting." And he didn't sound the least bit sorry about it.

"A—" She started. "A meeting? What—what could really be so important? You can't push it back a little?"

He sent her a dry look, and she knew he was right. They probably had plenty to discuss. Not that she would admit that at the moment; she didn't want to be shoveling klunk alone in the barn!

"It's actually called a Gathering. If you must know, it's about you and your brother." He rested the shovel against the fence and crossed his arms to look over her shoulder in the direction of the Homestead. "But that's all I can tell you. Probably shouldn't have told you that much, if I'm completely honest."

Her and Alex?

What would they talk about? Why did they need a private meeting to discuss it? Why couldn't Newt tell her more? Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Alex at all. That probably had something to do with the fact that she staunchly avoided him all night, but still. Could he know more than she did? Did something happen?

Apparently, her questions flashed across her face as she thought them, and the Newt saw the turmoil in her eyes and reached out to grip her shoulder comfortingly, which caught her off guard.

"I'll tell you when I know more." He glanced over his shoulder and stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. "Truth is, I don't know what the meeting is about, really. All Alby said was that we were having a meeting to talk about the greenies, and to keep you busy."

Elsie was really started to dislike Alby. She didn't appreciate being handled. Personally, she thought the Glade could do with a little transparency. But instead of voicing those thoughts, she threw a distasteful glance to the shovels before focusing back on his face. "And was it strictly necessary to pick this task in particular?"

A smirk tugged at his lips and mischief danced in his eyes. "No, but you wouldn't butcher the buggin' piggy."

"You were going to make me do that on my own, too?!" She couldn't help but gape at him, and he chuckled, giving her shoulder a light nudge.

"If it helps, I knew you wouldn't do it."

"I don't understand you." She tried to muster a glare, but found that it just wasn't in her.

Newt stepped away. "Perfect then, my plan is coming together beautifully." He winked at her and she felt the world spin a little. Quickly, she stamped down on that emotion and forced herself not to react. "Only joking of course. I've got to go—duty calls."

She didn't bite back the urge to roll her eyes as hard as she could at the pun this time, and he snickered and waved a hand over his shoulder.

"Cheeky bastard," she muttered, glaring down at the boots and shovel with a heavy sigh.

The small grey goat had his nose pressed against the pickets of the fence, and he suddenly bleated at her.

"What are you looking at?" She huffed, and he bleated at her again. "Sassy little thing."

The boots were heavy and they reeked of a bitter, rotten scent that wafted towards her nose. She could only pray the insides were relatively clean.

She made her way over to a stoop and plopped down to begin unlacing her boots. Her eyes drifted towards the Homestead, where Newt and a few other Gladers gathered. Now that she was alone she allowed her mind to spin with different speculations in private. She'd been told countless time since they arrived that siblings in the Glade weren't just a rarity—they didn't happen period. Was that really the cause for the meeting? What could they possibly have to discuss about it? Really, what was there to say?

She jerked her shoes off and slid them under the stool, dropping the heavy rubber boots in front of her. The Gladers didn't seem to like her very much. Maybe that was part of it. People are afraid of what they don't understand, and so far, no one but Newt had made much of an attempt to get to know her. And she didn't feel comfortable enough to just approach people yet.

Newt was a good friend. He was clearly high up on the totem pole of social politics in the Glade, and he'd been tasked by Alby himself with making sure to—what? Keep her out of trouble? Keep tabs on her? She wasn't exactly sure. Still, they shared moments that felt real to her. He'd done a lot to make her feel welcome. He'd gone above and beyond to reassure her that whatever she felt about arriving in the Glade wasn't wrong or unusual. And to her, it didn't seem like that was because Newt especially liked her as a person more than the others, or anything—it seemed that he did it simply because he was a good person.

Sighing to clear away her thoughts, she made her way back to the front of the Bloodhouse. A boy with short black hair and a knobby nose sat outside on the fence.

"I was wondering if you were gonna show," He grunted without looking at her, sliding off the fence and turning to stride into the barn. "Gonna be late to the Gathering."

She looked around to make sure he was talking to her, because he hadn't ever actually looked at her, and he didn't even bother to tell her his name. There was no one else around, though, so it had to be his lack of manners confusing her.

He spoke in rapid, short sentences, and there was so much slang thrown in that she struggled to decipher what she could catch.

"Fertilizer goes there. Don't get too many rocks or nothin' in it. Bad for the seeds, and I don't feel like having Zart chew me out for sloppy work. Get as much as you can. What you can't get, try to keep close to the back. Clear the troughs. Clear here, and there, and don't forget to cover it all when you're done." She blinked dumbly at him and he paused to look at her. "Got it?" She opened her mouth, finger up to tell him to wait, but he merely clapped her shoulder and turned on his heel and left without a backwards glance.

"What?" She asked the empty stalls, flies buzzing around the manure, and tried to piece together his hasty instruction.

Not for the last time, Elsie wished Newt hadn't had a stupid meeting to go to. She tried not to think too much about what she was doing as she moved the manure around and loaded it into barrels. About an hour into it, her palms stung from the work. She don't do heavy lifting. She never shoveled much of anything before, as far as she could tell. It took her ten minutes to get some form of a technique down.

Her work was shaky, sloppy at best. If anyone asked, she would blame it on her wrist—which was numb with pain, a sign she didn't think boded well, but she pushed through it. The manure looked like it should be easy to move, but it fought the shovel, and she found that she dropped about sixty percent of what she was able to pick up, and she had to keep going back to pick up what she lost along the way.

There might've been a more efficient way of doing things, but if there was, no one bothered to tell her. A couple Gladers walked by the barrels outside, but no one stopped to help her. She sent a longing glance down to the Homestead, but Newt had disappeared inside a long time ago.

Sighing, she paused and swiped at the sweat that gathered on her forehead. She studied her hands and prayed that that was dirt under her nails, and tried not to wince at the blisters developing. She'd barely made a dent in the manure, and she was sweating more than she cared to admit. What would she give for a long, hot shower...

The good news was that she adjusted to the rank smell long ago. The bad news is, as the harsh sun baked what she loaded into the barrels, it heated the blasted crap up, and the smell intensified tenfold. It was impossible to ignore. She found that being trapped inside the stuffy barn with the shadowed manure was a relief.

She quickly discovered that pigs might be the most annoying barn animals she'd had the displeasure of encountering. They were separated from her, corralled in a pin down at the other side of the Bloodhouse, but every time her work brought her close to them they would squeal with excitement.

A pig's squeal holds a kind of power she doesn't know how to explain, except for this: their squeals are as shrill and loud as the sun's bright and hot, and nothing in our galaxy can compare to its might. Every time they got going, she wanted to smack them over the head with her shovel, and she was a gentle soul—obviously!

It got so bad at one point that she wished she hadn't been so hasty to turn down Newt's offer to butcher one this morning. Before she started all this, she had images of delightful little piggies bouncing around their pins and rolling happily in slop, letting out short snorts and generally being cute.

That couldn't have been farther from the truth. The pigs were huge, first of all. There wasn't a small one in the bunch. Most of them were so fat that they couldn't be bothered to move, but when they did, they charged at the other end of the pin—where exactly they hoped to go, she'd never know—and they let out a battle cry the likes of which only Grievers could rival.

They didn't so much roll happily in mud as they did plop their fat bellies down in their own feces and slide in it. The other pigs would join them, and their bellies would coat the backs of each other. So, it was like… well. It was like a pigsty.

"I'm gonna call you Gally," She informed one that pressed its nose against the fence at her. It wasn't as big as the others. Younger, perhaps, though it was still larger than anything she'd imagined. Its ears twitched, and it let out a squeal and quickly waddled back to the rest of the pigs. They moved surprisingly fast for their size, especially this one, though his ankles were chubby like Gally's were.

"That's not nice," Said someone behind her. She turned to see her brother, and this did little to raise her spirits. It was the first time they'd seen each other since their fight.

"Oh," she flatly said before she could filter herself. Alex frowned at the obvious hint of annoyance in her voice, and she sighed. "Came to watch me struggle?"

"Actually, I came to relieve you of duty." He smirked at the pun, and she had to stop herself from throwing her shovel into the dirt.

"Okay!" She exclaimed. "Why does everyone make that joke!?" And then the meaning of his words registered. "Wait, what?"

Alex laughed, and for a moment it was like nothing had happened between them. He laughed at her and her heart lifted and so did the corner of her mouth, and he put a hand on the fence and waved her closer. "I came to get you because Alby wants to talk to you."

"He's in a meeting though, right?" She picked her way over the mounds of manure she had procured, careful not to slip and fall like she had already done several times. She got close enough to lower her voice—which had previously been a bit of a shout, and Alex actually took a step away.

"Holy shuck, Elsie," His nose wrinkled, and he leaned as far from her as he could without taking a second step back. "Did you join the pigs for a roll?"

She snorted in spite of herself, ignoring how perfectly that reaction paralleled with his accusation, and waved impatiently at him. "Yes, yes, I stink. What do you mean Alby wants to talk to me? Do you… am I allowed to go to the meeting?"

"Not smelling like that, you're not." He waved a finger at her and pretended to hold his breath. Or, maybe he wasn't pretending. "You should change first."

"What's he want to talk about?" She frowned.

"Just about what you can remember."

"What I can remember? I can't remember anything." She frowned, as if Alex had all the answers she sought. "Why would he be interested in what I can remember?"

Alex shrugged noncommittally. "He's just covering all his bases."

"Okay, but why? Did someone tell him I could remember—" she broke off, taking in the way Alex was avoided her gaze, and she studied him closely. Outwardly he was loose, casual. But something was off. "Alex, you can't remember anything either, right?"

"Only my name." He easily replied, leaning against the fence. "Seriously, Elsie. Can't you smell that?" She only stared at him, and he gestured over his shoulder. "Wanna borrow one of my shirts? I've got a few now."

He was lying.

Why? Why would he lie to her about what he can remember? What did he remember?

"Alex, if you can remember something—"

"I can't, Elsie. Don't you think I wish I did? All I know is—" He broke off and glanced away, his jaw tight. "We're stuck here, until I can find us a way out."

She studied him, and finally came to the conclusion that Alex had revealed all he was willing to reveal to her.

Well, fine. He didn't want to be honest with her? They were lying to each other now? Fine, just fine.

She shoved away from the fence and stomped over to the gate. The same pig she'd dubbed Gally from before screeched at her, and her ears twitched in sensitivity. She couldn't hold it in—"Shut up!" She snapped, kicking at the fence the pig stood in front of, but that only made him squeal louder.

Alex said something from where he still waited, but Elsie promptly ignored him. He said it louder as she threw the gate open and stomped through, and that's when things went very, very wrong.

The squealing persisted. It didn't give pause until a spot of tan entered her vision, and suddenly—something knocked her feet out from under her.

She slid through the mud and the manure, the boots that were a bit too big for her did not help her to find purchase in the slightest, and the sight of bobbling ears and a bouncing, curly tail was the last thing she saw before she hit the ground.

The mud was warm and wet, and it coated the back of her head. She heard the squeal growing distant, spots dancing in her vision. Several things registered.

First, she opened the gate. Second, apparently the gate somehow connected to the pig's pin, a fact she had failed to notice. Last, the stupid pig that had been so intently screaming at her was now darting around the Glade.

She launched out of the pin, whirling on her heel. Alex was already gone, bolting after the pig with a shout. The other pigs were beginning to catch on, snorting and squeaking excitedly, but they moved slower than the one that escaped did.

She dove for the gate, the front of her instantly coated in mud, and the wooden thing bashed into the fence and bounced open slightly. Still, it stopped the few that had reached it from leaving. Good. There's only one to capture, then. She quickly struggled to stand, sliding and struggling to catch herself in the slick mud.

How the shuck did they manage to function in this mess? Suddenly their clumsy method of movements didn't seem so silly, and she finally managed to push herself out of the manure long enough to stand.

It was official. She was completely covered in wet, brown mud, bits of hay stick to her as well. She ignored that fact as she fastened the gate closed and whirled on her heels.

The pig made its way across the pasture, sliding out of the Alex's grip like a bar of soap. He was totally covered in mud and manure, creating a slick coating that made him especially hard to capture. Especially given his surprising speed now that he was on dry land, and not sliding through mud and poop.

He squealed as he fled from the boys, a streak of brown and tan that headed straight for the Gardens.

She sprinted as fast as the boots allowed, but they did a lot to slow her progress. She probably looked ridiculous. She was absolutely drenched in mud, her braid slapping heavily against my back and her arms as she ran, and her steps were large and awkward to compensate for all the room the boots left. Her knees almost hit her chest, and she was tilting from side to side with every stride. Twice, she almost lost her balance.

"Pig!" She screeched as it changed courses and torpedoed towards her. "Stop!" She waved her hands and lowered slightly to the ground, preparing to launch herself at it. Its beady black eyes were wide, and its ears flapped in the wind as he charged straight for her. She had him. He was close, he was coming straight for her, she squatted low and prepared to lunge—

And naturally, of course, she missed. Where was everyone at?! It seemed like only she and Alex were trying to capture the blasted thing! Then she remembered all the Keepers and Newt and Alby were waiting for her in the Homestead. They had no idea what was going on, and it seemed like the Gladers were too stunned by what they were seeing to alert them.

Besides that, it wasn't a very serious matter. Honestly, there she was sliding around the Glade like an idiot, scrambling to catch a stupid little barn animal. Alex was doing a better job; he actually managed to get his arms around it a few times.

This had been her job—her first real responsibility she was given since she failed miserably in the kitchen. She couldn't bear the thought of messing it up. The siblings seemed to have a good handle on the situation. Elsie would come at it from one side, Alex from the other, and though neither of them were able to catch it, they were able to herd it closer to the pin.

Then, things went from bad to worse.

The pig abruptly changed course. In a feat of athleticism she didn't know a barn animal possessed, it quickly spun around and darted under her legs, heading straight for the door to the maze.

And suddenly, it wasn't funny anymore. Suddenly, the Gladers weren't laughing, as Alex tore after the stupid thing.

"Alex, don't!" She screamed, chorusing with several other Gladers. "Stop!"

Her adrenaline pumped furiously through her veins. She couldn't feel anything, physically, as she ran faster than she'd ever run before to try and tackle Alex. But he was far, way too far. Probably the length of a football field from her by that point, and he had never moved so fast.

He was like a god with wings; the male incarnation of Nike, Greek goddess of victory and speed. He launched himself at the pig when he was close enough, and actually managed to get a good hold on it.

Elsie puttered to a stop, wheezing from the exertion it took to run like that. She was frightened, terrified that her brother would do something stupid, like run into the maze after a freaking pig.

So not worth it.

"Alex, you idiot!" She shouted, and his head snapped around to look at her. In his break of concentration, the pig wriggled free of his grip, and Alex fumbled to capture it. His hands slid over its back, and he caught one of its legs but it was too fast.

It took off for the door again, faster than before, because Alex had scared it. And he scared it worse, as he screamed in anger. Close, he had been so close.

He wasn't about to let it go, either, because Alex was a dog with a bone. Once he started something, he finished it.

She broke into a run, yelling at Alex—begging him not to go. Someone called her name from behind, but she ignored them. She ran after him, fear spurning her forward, and her heart exploded in her chest when the pig disappeared into the maze.

And Alex followed closely behind.