Prologue

Awhile ago that now seems like forever ago, you confided in me your dream. Remember, Bren? You were dreaming of living in a secluded house surrounded by huge corn and grain fields, with nights so quiet they would be filled only with the chorus of cicadas. You also dreamed of having children. A girl who would run through the yellow wheat fields, laughing, followed by her older brother who would try to catch her. Just for fun of course. The Catcher in the Rye, I thought at the time because we had read the book in school. You pictured him always taking care of her, like brothers do. Or should do.

Yes, brothers always want the best for their little sisters. Today I know this, but for a long time, your dream made me sad because it made me think of my own brothers. Especially Ethan.

Dreams. They can be peculiar.

Amarok of the Navapaki said a man should guard his dreams like an Indian guards his most sacred possession in his medicine bag. Sharing dreams might rob them of their power. I'm glad we didn't follow that. Your dream was mine—and mine was yours for a long time.

I often think of our days in the forest among the Navapaki, their wisdom and stories. And also of Amarok, who you never should have been jealous of. And had you lived in another time, with its traditions and customs, your deed would have been glorious, at least to your tribe. They would have celebrated you. You would have kidnapped the strange blonde girl, maybe on horseback with a bow you made yourself, your face painted with red and black war paint.

I don't know why but the thought makes me smile. That act alone would have given you the right to possess the girl. To own me.

Later, when I have more strength, I will light the candle I poured for you. Or I'll ask Liam to do it. In my mind, its light will reach you and I will whisper to you that part of your dream has come true. And maybe, just maybe, you can hear me.

Today is a day for rejoicing even if you're gone.