The group of trees is still eerie, but these trees don't seem to be actively trying to ensnare and/or devour them.

At least not at the moment.

And as a bonus, the glittering . . . flock? herd? school? what is the collective noun for golden, flying, dentate leaves? At any rate, the leaves stop at the edge of the clearing. They go whipping around its outskirts, like fish circling an aquarium, but they do not follow the group into the woods.

Meg sighs and takes a moment to be grateful for both the twig in her hand and the fact that she can no longer hear any singing she has to try to drown out. (Because, logical decision or not, it was still a bit mortifying.)

"Is everyone all right?"