After lunch, we are ushered into a big tent to hear a poet. The poet has an African-sounding name even though she isn’t from Africa. Her talents seem to be rhyming pussy with hussy and fussy. Then she reads a poem where we are supposed to yell “Wax and Wane!” after lines like, “Women have vaginas that can speak to one another!” It feels good to yell. It feels good to pump my fist in the air, and for the first time since being here, I feel this sort of electric woman power. Our poet recites, “Women are healers, we recover!” Dahlia is beaming, and Mom has tears in her eyes. “Wax and wane!” we yell. Mom puts her arm around me and says, “I know this isn’t your… scene, but I can’t tell how much it means to share this with you.” Then Dahlia yells at us to pump our fists, and the moment is ruined. Outside of the tent, we are invited to sit on small rugs that form a circle. The men from lunch serve us some sort of dandelion tea, but I think it might actually be dirt water (mud). I look around for Bane, but he isn’t around. After we finish our tea, a very pretty blonde woman steps into the middle of our circle. She introduces herself as Thordis. She is here to share with us her story of “rape, revenge and resurrection.” “Really wonderful,” I say, wanting no part in this. I’ve begun to feel dizzy, and I wonder if you can be allergic to dandelion. “Be respectful,” says Mom. The woman recounts how this story, like many stories, starts with innocent fun: a drink, some drags off a