Sam stopped what he was doing, and took a long drink from the jug of water sitting next to him. It wasn't cold anymore, wasn't even cool, and it went down his throat in two warm, disappointing gulps. He wiped at the sweat on his brow, but only succeeded in smearing grime over his face.

He found this field of sunflowers years ago. With the buckets full of their heads, Talia will have enough seeds to press oil for the whole year. The pulp that's left over, they can feed to the animals. Every year, Sam was surprised that no one else had gotten to it first.

Sam took another jealous look back at the truck. Oslo was dozing in the cab. Sam had made a deal with his old friend, who was willing to supply the truck and the gasoline in return for a portion of the harvest. Of course, one of the stipulations was that Sam do all the work. Saving the fuel, as well as the wear on his own vehicle, was worth more than the seeds he was giving up, but that didn't make it any less annoying. Not while he was simmering in the the heat at the height of the day.

The two had known each other for thirty years, since their time in Collier's Regiment, back when they were young and full of ideas. Sometimes Sam thought the world had changed a lot since he was a young man. Sometimes he thought it was probably himself that changed.

Oslo had been thinner in those days, so had Sam, but he was lazy even back then. He was funny, though, and Sam could trust him. That was rare out here, and when you found it you didn't give it up.

Sam got back to work, and his back gave him a short warning bark as he bent over again. He wished Asher were here, not for the first time today. They would probably have been done by now, but Sam wanted to fill the truck as full as he could, and Asher would take up room. At least, that's what he told his son. In truth, after Asher had told his mother about their brush with one Alex with Malice's goons, back when they had scavenged metal from that huge God, she had been less keen on him going out to the Breaks with his father.

The boy did well out here, Sam knew, but if he'd learned one thing in twenty years with Talia, it was that you had to let her have her way, at least for a while. Soon, she'd be sending him out again, and acting like the whole thing was her idea.

Asher had other things on his mind, anyway. He'd started spending time with a girl over in Bitterroot. Her name was Marlowe. She had long dark hair, like Talia used to have. Sam thought that it might get serious. Talia wasn't wild about the girl, but Sam thought that was an opinion universally held by mothers when it came to first girl who really gave their son the dopey eyes.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Sam liked her, though, and thought Talia would probably come around. Marlowe's folks were good people, tough, without being hard. Asher could do a lot worse. They could make a life together. Sam thought he could picture that life, and it was a picture he liked.

He put down the machete, gathering up another armful of sunflower heads, and his back yelled at him again, like it was trying to tell him that it wasn't kidding the last time. Yep, next year, Asher was definitely coming with him.

Sam heard an engine, not far off, and he looked up. There was a familiar flit of panic, like any reasonable person would feel out in the Breaks at the approach of stranger. He pushed it away, and watched the kid on the motorcycle ride out of the horizon.

The bike stopped some ways off, in front of a man with a horse. Sam cursed himself for failing to notice the rider before. Cursed Oslo too, who was probably napping in the truck. He had no idea how long the man been there. Sam was pretty sure they had no interest in him or his sunflower, but that was beside the point. He really was getting old.

It looked like the kid on the motorcycle was yelling before he even cut the engine. The guy with horse was wearing one of those long coats you saw the Roughcoats wear. He extended his hand in a friendly way, but the motorcycle kid was having none of it.

Motorcycle Kid was yelling and waving his arms a lot, and Possible Roughcoat was holding his hands up. Who me? I couldn't possibly have any idea what you're talking about. That's what the gesture said. Motorcycle Kid had something in one of his hands. Sam thought it looked like a tent peg, or maybe a climbing spike.

Sam thought that Motorcycle Kid was letting himself get sloppy. He also thought that, despite the aw shucks gestures, the other's guy feet were always set, like he was ready to pounce if necessary.

He thought the kid ought to be careful.

Sam increased his efforts, and wondered if he might have to leave with the truck half full. The kid was getting loud now, Sam could hear him all the way over here, though he couldn't make out the words. His arms were all over the place, and he was pointing back in the direction he had come from. During a particularly emphatic gesure, he let his head swivel in that direction. Sam knew right away it was a bad idea.

Possible Roughcoat, who probably wasn't all that much older than Motorcycle Kid himself, bent to the ground, snatched up a rock, and smashed motorcycle kid in the head.

Motorcycle Kid crumpled to the ground. His attacker dropped the rock to the ground, and threw his hands up in the air, like he was frustrated. He put his hands on his head, and stood there for some time before getting back on his horse.

Sam turned away. He didn't want Possible Roughcoat, who had been upgraded to Probable Murderer, to see him looking in his direction. I don't know who you are or where you're going and I don't care. I couldn't tell anyone anything about whatever it is you just did. That was the message Sam wanted to convey. I'm leaving it alone.

By the time Sam looked up again, the horse and rider were gone, and Sam was glad.

Because that's how you made it out here in the Breaks.

You took care, and you left it alone.