And then my ears prick to a rustling behind us, a muttering wave rippling through the ranks. I glance up at Preston. The corner of his lip rises. He hears something that I can’t with my muffled human ears.

I turn, so I see the moment Essie barrels through a row of Owenses, Richard at her side for once. Uncle Dewey, Drona, Arly, and Rae follow at her heels leading a motley assortment of Bog dwellers—my cousin Conway, Friday Samuel, Irv and Tom Nevitts, Mina Scurlock, Gracie Beddoe, and Auntie Madwen, huffing and puffing, bringing up the rear.

It takes me a minute to recognize the other faces, mixed with...