Stone Circle i have often dreamed of a far off place

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the boy’s stubbornness wasn’t new to him. neither was that tight, worried edge in his voice.

he shook his head once. slow.

’course you can look, he said, gravel low. ain’t nobody owns this valley.

his gaze swept the barren stretch of land— empty dens, wind-scoured stones, nothing living but the three of them and the ghosts the boy hoped not to find. then he flicked his muzzle north.

your best bet’s that way, he added. mountains west’re too steep for a kid your size. she wouldn’t’ve gone that route.

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