Lyle was in a daze of bliss on his walk home. He could not seem to stop smiling. He seemed likely to burst with happiness, and he wondered: was this what love felt like? He knew he was attracted to Jessica, and admired her in many respects, but he had never felt this kind of longing for her touch, her smile. More than anything, he wanted to make her happy.

He knew little of love, except that it was grown over many years by couples matched early like himself, or in sudden bursts when someone met a stranger from the Outside and ran off into the unknown with them. He had figured the magical ‘love’ would come sometime around when they were married, or a little afterward, when they had children. Could love happen this early? He had no idea how it worked. All he knew was that it felt like nothing in the world could bring down his spirits.

When he came home to find Brandon sitting alone on the porch reading a book, Lyle was smiling so ridiculously that his brother looked up and snorted.

“You look love-struck,” Brandon teased.

“Do I?” Lyle said dreamily. Maybe that meant it was true. Then it hit him: “You’ve read books about love.” He put his hands on Brandon’s knees and leaned forward to peer into the book he was currently reading. “Tell me what it’s like.”

Brandon pressed the book to his chest and looked at the bag of food in Lyle’s hand that he had bought on his way out of town. “I’ll tell you everything I know if you give me some of that.” He snatched the bag and started into the house.

Lyle followed, but cautiously—he did not want to run unawares into their father. Brandon saw his searching look and said over his shoulder, “He was gone before I woke up, I don’t know where he went.”

“Probably to find more alcohol, I think he ran out,” Lyle muttered.

Brandon shot him a look. “You shouldn’t be so hard on him. He’s trying.”

That’s what his aunt and uncle said every time Lyle spoke ill of his father. He didn’t know why they all kept defending him. It had been two years since his mother’s death, and though some weeks his father did seem to be getting better, he always relapsed before too long. “If he were really trying, something would have changed by now.”

Brandon did not answer, and after a moment Lyle’s haze of happiness returned. He sat at the table across from his brother and put his feet up in an extra chair. They still had four chairs, though there were only three of them, now.

“Did Jessica kiss you again?” Brandon guessed through a mouthful of bread.

Lyle broke into a big smile and folded his arms behind his head. “Maybe.”

“Nice.”

“Tell me what it’s like to be in love, Brandon.”

Brandon gestured to him. “You look like you already know.”

“Tell me anyway. What do the books say?”

Their mother had taught them both to read when they were young, but Lyle did it so rarely now that he wasn’t sure he could still read an entire book. Certainly not the way Brandon tore through them in a day, then re-read them twice or thrice. He had even drawn scenes from them in charcoal, and a few times with paints that Lyle had bought for him when he went to Brey to buy supplies for their grandmother.

The brothers were very different, but Brandon’s passion for his books and their adventures always managed to capture Lyle’s imagination as well. Unlike Lyle, Brandon knew what the great mountains looked like, had smelled the salty scent of the sea, and had tasted the lips of princesses. Lyle almost wanted to try to read again, just to learn about love, but the way his brother told him the stories, he felt as if he’d read it himself.

“It’s like a fire, burning in your heart,” Brandon told him with conviction, clutching his chest. “You love them so much—you’d do anything for them. You’d kill anyone, travel over any ocean—you just go crazy. They are the only thing you think about.”

Lyle, resting his chin on his hand, wondered what lengths he would go for Jessica. He would die to protect her, of course. But he would do that for plenty of people. That seemed like a given. Would he travel over oceans? He didn’t even truly know what that would entail.

“How long would it take to cross an ocean?” he asked.

Brandon shrugged. “Months? Years?”

Lyle nodded thoughtfully.

“But you know, the greatest love stories end in tragedy. So be careful.”

Lyle grinned. “Is that right?”

“Yes. One or both of them die, or they betray each other over a throne. One dies and the other takes terrible revenge or kills themselves. Or both.”

“I’ve seen people love each other for their entire lives,” Lyle said mildly, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe the greatest love stories are just called that because they end tragically. The best love stories go on happily forever, but no one wants to write about those.”

“Maybe.” Brandon chewed on some dried bear meat and seemed to lose himself in thought.

Lyle wondered who had traveled a whole year over an ocean for their loved one. It seemed insane. And boring. How would you even know where the other person was at that point, or if they even still cared for you? What if you traveled for a year to see someone and found they had already settled down with someone else? But maybe true love didn’t work that way. Maybe no one else would be good enough for you after you met them.

“I’m going to go on a great adventure one day,” Brandon said quietly, eyes unfocused. After a moment he glanced at Lyle, then away, as if he had said something shameful.

“I know you will,” Lyle replied, taking a bite of bread.

Brandon’s face lit up for a moment, then fell again. “No, that’s stupid.”

“Why?”

Brandon gave him a look. “I don’t even have a job, Lyle. I don’t have the money to get out of this valley, not to mention travel the world.”

Lyle waited for a moment, then said, “I’ve been saving some for you.” It seemed as good a time as any to tell him.

Brandon stared. “What?”

“I have some extra.” He motioned to their room, where a little box under his bed held the extra coins he’d saved. “I’ve been hiding it from Father. It’s not much—not yet, at least. But one day it will be enough to get you out of here.”

“Lyle . . .”

“Don’t thank me,” Lyle said, standing up. “Just start making some plans. I can’t help with that, I don’t know anything about the world.”

“Come with me,” Brandon said suddenly, standing up as well. He looked like he was in pain. “I don’t know anything about the world, either. Not really. You can come with me, and—and protect me.”

“You can protect yourself,” Lyle said. “That’s why I’ve taught you how.”

Brandon’s mouth was open, but no sound was coming out.

“You remember?”

“Yes, Lyle,” Brandon said, exasperated, “I know how to throw a punch. I might be able to break an arm or knock out a knee if I have to defend myself, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to survive alone out in the world!”

“You’re smart, you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

The front door banged open, and they both jumped. Their father strode inside, a bottle of dark liquor gripped in his hand. Tall and lanky, he towered over them both as he looked them over, eyes glassy.

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He looked very much like Brandon, if Brandon were two heads taller and had sunken cheeks and dark bags under his eyes. The two of them both had soft brown hair, warm brown eyes, and ruddy cheeks—features that made them look gentle. Brandon more so because his cheeks were still round with youth. Lyle looked very different than both of them.

“Am I interrupting something?” their father inquired.

They shook their heads.

After a moment, he shrugged and went to his chair by the fireplace.

Brandon gave Lyle an emphatic look, like he wanted to finish the argument through facial expressions, but Lyle was already turning toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Brandon hissed.

“I have somewhere to be.” Lyle pulled his pack over his shoulder and grabbed his bow and quiver from the wall.

“Oh, Lyle,” their father said, “your aunt wants you. Something about a lunch.”

“Yes, that’s where I’m heading,” Lyle said curtly.

“No need to take that tone. Brandon, bring me some of that, would you?”

Lyle took one look back at his brother obediently piling food onto a plate, then left with a bitter taste in his mouth.

Just before he opened the gate to enter the town again, Lyle did a peculiar thing: he looked down the road that led to Brey, which sat in the only gap in the mountains that surrounded his valley. The impulse held him for several seconds.

He had heard something. Not the whistling of the wind or the rustle of the grass, nor the snort of a bison or the heavy steps of a bear. Something was calling him. It was a call that held no sound, yet he heard it as clearly as he heard his instinct when he listened to the grass.

As he gazed down the road, he seemed to see worlds beyond it. He saw images that his brother had given him, and more: the deafening roar of a waterfall, the spray cold on his face; huge, shining castles that stretched toward the sky; rolling golden hills with thousands of streams winding and babbling between them; mountains that blocked out the sky and sent avalanches down to bury the world below; great ships toppled by waves in the darkest ocean, the moon keeping sentinel over their destruction . . .

The world—it was waiting for him to enter its fray, its masterful chaos of love and war, knowledge and power, triumph and . . . wonder. Excitement bubbled to life inside of him—how had he thought he could live his entire life in a single valley, marry the girl closest to his age, and take over his uncle’s business?

Then he shook himself back to sense. Those were just dreams that his brother had put in his head. There was nothing out there for him. And besides, he had a family to support—he couldn’t leave even if he wanted to.

Brandon might be able to make it out one day, and Lyle would certainly help him, but that was not his path. His path included taking a late-night walk with Jessica, and finding ever more ways to be useful.

Aunt Mary gave Lyle a sidelong look when he entered her house, he couldn’t tell if it was worry or reprimand. He apologized for being late—his conversation with Brandon had lasted longer than he intended—and sat down with the family he had guided the previous week.

Torsten, the father, a large man with larger opinions and an easy, boisterous laugh, did most of the talking. He and his son, a sour young man around twenty, had hunted the bear, while his wife and daughter stayed behind in town. It was a common enough arrangement that the town had housing for it, and the women usually helped Aunt Mary tend to the pepper plants they used to make the powder that repelled the bears, or worked at their own crafts.

Torsten was fond of Lyle, even though Lyle treated them with the same politeness and impersonal story of his life as he did with all clients. He helped give small talk as they all ate, but avoided speaking directly to his aunt. He kept remembering what he had overheard her say about him. He needed to hear it. Pride won’t help him now. How prideful did his aunt think he was?

After lunch, he helped the family pack up their covered wagon. When they finally left, Lyle went back inside, shoved some food into his bag for lunch, then grabbed his bow and headed out.

He walked out of the house just as Aunt Mary was coming back inside, so all she managed to say to him was, “Be safe!”

Lyle followed the southern road for a couple of miles, enjoying the breeze and the constant rustle of the yellow grass all around him. The sun, climbing the clouds steadily, was doing its best to melt all the patches of fresh snow to slush. It was so quiet and open out here—he could finally quiet his worries and just listen.

After half an hour of walking, Lyle felt a prickle on the back of his neck, and his feet slowed. Moments later he caught sight of a large, fuzzy, golden shape in the grass just beside the raised road. He stopped, putting his whistle in his mouth, but then the bear turned its head to look over at him, and Lyle rolled his eyes and dropped the whistle.

“Jasper,” Lyle chided, “get out of the damn road.”

Jasper was a young male known for his tendency to get too close to humans—entirely out of curiosity, it seemed, for he had never shown any signs of aggression. They knew him easily enough by the brown spot just above his left eye that greatly resembled an arched eyebrow, so it looked like he was in a permanent state of confusion and vague concern.

Jasper chewed on whatever he was eating—some roots, it looked like—and slowly blinked at Lyle. The bear was sitting comfortably on his haunches, and it looked like he had no intention of getting off the road.

Lyle shook his head and kept walking, giving the bear a wide berth. Jasper followed him with his head, and when Lyle passed him, started to get up to follow. Lyle turned around and blew the whistle once, a harsh, dissonant sound that echoed through the valley.

The bear startled, his whole bulky mass jiggling, and then he turned away to amble back into the grass. He looked back at Lyle after a few steps and stood up on his hind legs, rising above the grass and landing that inquisitive, concerned look on him.

“Go away,” Lyle told him, trying not to laugh at the sight. Jasper lifted his nose into the air to take a few curious sniffs. “Quit approaching people,” Lyle went on sternly. “Or they’ll put you up for a hunt.”

Jasper sniffed once more, then lowered back onto all fours and disappeared into the grass.

Lyle shook his head and kept walking. He’d lied—they all loved Jasper, as troublesome as he was, and Raven and Gentry had already begged Uncle Roderick to never put him up for a hunt. But if Jasper thought it was safe to approach humans, he would start trying to come near town, and that would be a problem. The town had the fence and the dogs, but bears could be crafty. Plus, a few families, his included, lived outside the town’s fence and had to walk through open grassland to get there every day.

A few minutes later, Lyle spotted someone on the road behind him. It looked like Raven, and she raised a hand to ask him to wait for her. She would be going in a different direction than him eventually, but there were still thirty minutes of walking left until then, and he wouldn’t mind company.

He sat on the side of the road to wait for her, yanking out grass stalks and weaving them together. He thought of making something for Jessica, then dismissed the idea. Brandon could make whole baskets out of the grass, but Lyle had never gotten the hang of it. He could make a wreath if he wanted, but everyone could do that.

By the time Raven caught up to him, Lyle had made a small wreath with little white flowers jammed into it. His cousin was breathing hard, though she had only been walking—running was strictly forbidden out here because even the most docile bear would jump into action if it had something to chase—but it looked like she had been walking as fast as possible because her cheeks were flushed. She had traces of the ruddy cheeks that Lyle’s father and Brandon had, but hers only showed when she was sweaty.

“Where’s everyone else?” Lyle asked her, looking behind her but seeing no sign of Gendry or the two boys from Brey.

She pointed ahead. “Already up there, I—“ She took a few deep breaths, fanning herself. “I stayed behind to—help Mother clean up—Victoria just got here.”

Her older sister had married a man in Brey last year and moved there with him, occasionally taking the two-hour walk back home to see her family. There wasn’t a way to send word ahead, though, and Raven and Gentry would have to move back into a room together to make space for their sister.

Lyle placed his flowery crown on Raven’s head and smiled, proud of himself. She grabbed it and shoved it into his chest, then started walking. “Come on, let’s go.”

Lyle examined the squished flowers pitiably, then tossed the little wreath into the wind. It sailed over the top of the grass for a few seconds before falling into the mass of grass, dipping a few stalks before they sprang back into place.

“Who were you whistling at?” Raven asked as he came to walk by her side.

“Jasper.”

She turned in a circle as she walked. “Jasper is out here? Where?”

“He’s gone now; I told him we’d hunt him if he didn’t stop trying to follow people.”

“Aw, we would never. His stupid eyebrow,” she added, smiling, and they both laughed just thinking about it.

They walked the rest of the way together, sometimes chatting, sometimes just walking in silence and enjoying the clear day. Some days the wind got so bad that you could barely breathe. Other times it brought hail with it, and if you were out in the grass, you just had to duck as low as you could and wait it out. The valley had a mind of its own, and you never what it had in mind for the day.

“How is your father doing?”

Lyle blinked in surprise. He glanced at his cousin—she was somber. It was a genuine question. “Um—fine?”

“Is he getting any better?”

“Uh—no, not really.”

She was quiet for a while, long enough for him to recall that her father, his father’s brother, had gone down a similar road. It happened too long ago for either of them to remember, but they knew the story: decline into alcohol and depression, some violence toward his family, and then he disappeared. Eventually, news came back from somewhere Outside that he was dead, a suspected suicide.

Raven seemed to be trying to say something, and eventually she managed, without looking at him, “If you were struggling. And someone you cared about was mad at you for struggling. Do you think it would help?”

Before Lyle could respond, or even process how he felt about that, Raven lifted a hand and said quietly, “See you later,” then turned down the trail that led to the cabin. He hadn’t noticed they’d made it, but apparently she had been tracking their steps and waiting until the last moment to say that to him.

“See you,” Lyle echoed, confused. As his cousin walked down the narrow trail and disappeared around a bend of grass, a profound sense of loneliness swept over him.

He turned away, continuing south.

He knew exactly what she meant, but he didn’t want to think about it right now. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for his father, not now. After all, without his anger at his father, what fuel would he use to work so much? He smiled at his own dark humor, then took a deep breath. He would consider it. But not now.

He could not think while walking through the grass. He had to listen.