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As the drummers beat out a slow, steady rhythm, one of the men from the pickup approached Brooke. He held a flowery old cake tin with a blue and white checkered dish towel draped over the top. He removed the towel and held out the tin. Brooke reached inside and brought out a small, rustic crown made from woven brown thorns.
She walked across the circle with the crown, careful not to hold it by the thorns. Alice fought against her ties. She turned her head left and right as Brooke got close, only for Lyle to step in and hold it still.
Brooke leaned over and placed the crown on Alice's head. She pressed down until the thorns dug into Alice's skull. They were sharp. The pain intense. Streaky red rivers of blood ran down her cheeks from her scalp.
Alice winced at the sting. Her forehead
