Greta sets her bottle aside and watches closely as the Balladeer positions the shears around one of the vines. When the blades close together and the vine snaps cleanly, she releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It's such a simple solution - too simple, perhaps - but it seems to be working so far. Still, she says nothing to Johnny, instead pulling the cut vine aside so the Balladeer can get at another one.

It takes her a minute to register that they aren't really making progress. The vines that they cut stay cut, curling away from the rest of the tangle like stray hairs, but no matter how many she pulls aside, there always seem to be more. "Wait," she says to the Balladeer, leaning closer to the hole they've been making. And she can see it, now, more vines twining out of the deep green shadows to take the place of their fellows.

Greta straightens with a sigh, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead. "It's not working. Or not well enough. There are more coming in."