Kintla Flatlands But Death Had Caught You in a Bad Mood

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Set in the mountains near Otter Creek.

Mountains—foothills, valleys, hills, and ridges—were familiar to him.
 
He was as used to walking up slopes as he was walking on flat land, the pebbles and broken stone underfoot an almost comforting presence. Almost being the key word in that sentence.
 
These mountains weren’t his home.
 
Home was several days of travel southeast. Almost the opposite direction he was heading, had been heading.
 
Whatever.
 
Sooner or later, they would see. His mom would send his dad to smooth things over, like she always did, and his dad would talk about how she didn’t really mean the things she did, she just had a temper, and so did he, and that sooner or later, things would be back to normal.
 
Maybe he would listen.
 
Maybe he wouldn’t.
 
Maybe he wouldn’t go back home at all. (Maybe his parents would never come.)
 
He kicked a stone at his feet, uncaring of where it landed, or what—who—it might hit.