"Won't do 'em any good," Harold chuckled softly. "There isn't any more liquor in it."
"They're leaving now," Marc called back. "They're headed for the house. I guess they think we're up there."
"Good," said Toffee. "That gives us more time, anyway."
"More time for what?" Marc asked, turning toward her and slumping dejectedly against a tree. "What can we do out here in these woods?"
"I don't know," Toffee said reflectively. "But I feel something in the back of your subconscious that's trying to break through. If I just concentrate a minute, I may get it. It has something to do with these woods, I think. Try to make your mind a blank. That'll help a lot in establishing a contact. I could knock you out," she suggested, "and return there."
"I'll just make my mind a blank," Marc answered hastily.
And for a time a heavy silence fell over the trio.
"Are these pine trees?" Toffee asked finally, breaking the quiet.
"Good grief!" Marc groaned. "I concentrate myself almost into a coma to make my mind a blank for you, and all you do is wonder about the scenery."
"No, no," Toffee said, fluttering a hand delicately. "That's what I got from your subconscious; a memory of the scent of pines ... if that's what they are. You smelled them when you were blindfolded ... the first time."