The woman leads you to a small house on the outskirts of the village, tucked beneath some willow trees near the edge of a dark forest, whose branches sway with a light breeze. The sun is close to setting, lending a slight golden hue to everything and casting deep shadows. Golden motes dance in and out of the dying sunbeams. Behind the house are a pair of long ropes tied between trees, with forgotten pieces of clothing still swaying, now thoroughly dry. Perhaps fifty paces away from the house, just beneath the forest canopy, is a thick tangle of bushes dotted with ripe berries. The woman takes you to the berry patch.
"I was just taking down the washing back there, and she must have run off here to the berries. Right here is where I found a bit of cloth from her dress," she points to a protruding thorn, and produces a bit of torn blue cloth.