Tuesday came all too quickly. The uncertainty of what Patience would or would not find had burned in the pit of her stomach the past day. She waited on her front doorstep with bated breath. The rumble of the motorbike engine preceded itself. Schuler pulled up to the gate, a picnic basket strapped to the side of his vehicle. Patience brightened.

“At least you’ll get to eat,” Anax remarked.

“It will just be another pleasant day with Schuler! No need to fuss over the possibility of finding the wreckage of the place I was born …” Patience chuckled nervously. She wrung her hands.

“We don’t have to look for it.”

“No …” Patience drew a deep breath into her lungs. “I want to.” She rose to her feet. “Our main priority will simply be enjoying Schuler’s company.”

“‘Our’?” grumbled Anax.

“Give him a chance,” she sighed.

Anax continued to grumble until they closed the gate behind them.

“Mornin’,” greeted Schuler.

“Good morning,” Patience returned.

The man nodded at her head. “Anax.”

The skull responded with a grunt of acknowledgement.

“Don’t mind him,” said the girl. She climbed onto the back of the motorbike.

Schuler only chuckled. He adjusted his goggles and gripped the handlebar. “So, where to?”

“West. My father had been on his way home from business in Antimoire when he spotted the fire.”

“All right,” said Schuler, “then west we’ll head.”

Patience felt a familiar thrill of adventure ripple through her body as they took off. Eager to view the scenery, she leaned back as far as her tight grip on Schuler’s sides would allow. She wondered how far they would go before finding the spot.

Antimoire was the one large city Patience ever visited. She had gone once as a young child and the most vivid memory she had of the trip was the extremely long coach ride and crossing the river on a ferry. Hazy images of grand buildings that towered over the streets played in her mind like a picture show. If these visions were actual memories or a product of her imagination, she did not know.

Patience did not wish to see the city again, however. If they did, it would mean they had traveled much too far to ride back before day’s end. She was certain her father was already well on his way home when he found her. The party rode until another road appeared at their flank in the distance and converged on them.

“Stop here!” called Patience.

They dismounted at the fork. She strode up to a sign announcing Antimoire fifty miles down the road. Another sign pointed backward one way to Keaton, and another, the way to Haverston.

“Did you want a break from the bike?” asked Schuler.

“I wanted to see this. Last time I came through here, I could barely count to ten!” Patience simpered.

Anax remained silent, simply appreciating the scenery. Green hills gently rolled around them with small ponds and clusters of bushes tucked away in pockets. Lines of fencing snaked to separate fields and farms. Full trees stood as sentinels, posted at stations sparsely scattered over the countryside and filed into columns as windbreaks. Patience and Schuler breathed in the air. Out here they were open to the whistles and whisperings of nature, a knowledge lost to humans who chose a more convenient life. But for a moment as they stood there, that knowledge seemed to tickle the fringes of their minds.

“So we’re just wandering west,” Schuler remarked with a wry smile. Pulling a cloth from his pocket, he wiped the dust from his goggles. “Did your father ever tell you exactly where he found you?”

“I used to ask as a child … thinking I was some fairy princess out of my storybooks,” Patience chuckled. “They were always found in odd places, like in flowers or fruits.” She gazed up at the lonesome road stretching toward the horizon. “He described there being a black oak off to the side of the property, the only tree in four square acres among an otherwise wooded area.”

The man gazed at the pastoral landscape spread around them. “Looks like we’ve got a ways to go. It does get a bit more wooded closer to Antimoire.”

“Shall we press on, then?” chimed Patience, stepping toward the motorbike. Schuler mounted the seat and patted the cushion behind him.

“All right, everyone keep your eyes peeled for a black oak,” he shouted over the engine rumbling to life.

Patience hopped on, pressing her chest to Schuler’s back. She whispered in his ear, “I pretended I was a dryad princess for a spell.” The man smirked while the girl giggled at having divulged such a silly childhood secret.

They passed by a few wagons and buggies, to which Patience would politely wave, but mostly the road was their own. “Ah, the wide-open country! I just feel so free out here!” whooped Schuler. There was a wide world beyond the horizon, one that Schuler had a taste of. For that, Patience was envious.

The motorbike carried them across miles of road. Eventually more trees sprouted from the horizon, and hills revealed thicker shrubbery. Farmland receded as woods crept into the panorama. With them came the smell of wet earth and foliage. Spring had many dresses across the country. It was nice to see the range in her closet.

Suddenly the trees gave way to an open field, and at the far end was a sprawling black oak. Patience held her breath. Schuler stopped short of the imposing tree. It was so massive, so regal that it commanded a certain respect. The trio slowly approached the giant in awe. Numerous thick branches sprung from a wide base that would take five grown men to circle linked hand to hand. The wooden tentacles spread and twisted over hundreds of years to reach in every direction, attempting to control its domain.

“I’ve seen trees … but never anything like this,” Anax gasped.

“This place doesn’t look like it belongs to anyone at the moment.” The girl peered around, but there were no structures indicating any human presence. “Let’s look around.”

“Want me to help or should I start setting up our picnic?” asked Schuler. “Was thinking under the tree would be nice.”

Patience nodded in agreement. “Go on. Call me when it’s ready.”

Schuler walked to his motorbike to grab the accouterments. Yards away, Patience began surveying the open field. She methodically started by the tree, proceeding forward along an imagined blueprint of the property. Her father stated the black oak was to the side of the house. She was determined to comb through the majority of the field in the hope of finding anything that may have come from the home that burned down all those years ago.

Patience searched with her eyes and feet. Her vision strained to discern any odd shape between the tall grass. Through the soles of her boots, she felt through every mound of dirt she stepped on for rubble. Anax assisted as well, his orb scanning the ground near and far. The trill of red-winged blackbirds pealed through the meadow.

The sun reached its zenith. By now in her methodical pacing, Patience had nearly reached the center of the field, far from the receding shade of the black oak. The sun’s first showing of strength poured on their backs: practice for the coming summer.

Under the tree, Schuler had set up a quaint picnic. Plates and napkins spread neatly around two covered dishes. A bottle of soda water stood leaning against the basket. Schuler rested on a thick root that breached the ground. All that remained to complete the scene was the two surveyors’ presence. Lunch called to her, and Patience was about to buckle. But the moment she stepped to her right to turn back, her boot tapped on something quite dense.

Patience’s eyes lit up. She crouched down and spread away the grass with her arms, Anax extending tendrils in assistance. Nestled in the ground was a crumbling brick. She paced forward, sweeping the area. More bricks. The girl fell to her knees and began brushing away the dirt that had accumulated from years of exposure. Underneath the caked mud and dust, blackness emerged. A fire most definitely razed the area once. She shot a glance to Schuler under the tree. He knew she had found something. Patience and Anax continued to scour for anything more as the man made his way over.

“So this is where you came from,” said Anax.

“I suppose so,” said Patience. Ultimately their search only resulted in several more blackened bricks. The trio stood over the pile. Schuler clapped a hand on Patience’s shoulder before retracting it back to his side. It may have been an insignificant stack of crumbling blocks, but it stood as a monument in her eyes: of her humble beginnings, a foundation for what she was now. She stared at the pile, reverent.

A strange, familiar feeling crept into the girl’s bones. Her mind flashed back to the day she visited the cemetery. These bricks were grave markers. She was visiting the resting place of her other parents. The kin lost to history. Patience bowed her head. She held a hand over her heart. Having paid her respects, the girl then began walking to their awaiting lunch.

“Anax,” said Patience. She looked behind her. Schuler tailed them in silence. “If we ever find ourselves in Vyugary, would you want to look for the place you came from?”

“I’m unsure if it can be found. Who knows how the lands have changed since I fell …”

“You don’t even want to try?”

“The places of our birth hold no importance. Never do we stay in the same spot for long.”

Patience touched a hand to his mandible.

Having reached the shade of the oak, she lifted her arms wide to cool off. The entire world spread out from her fingertips, but those bricks a few hundred yards away anchored her. They were solid little things that marked the beginning of her existence. She had found something tangible, secure. Now it was time to focus on Schuler’s company.

“Ready for lunch?” the man quietly asked as he dispersed the cutlery.

Patience nodded.

They sat down upon the blanket with their legs crossed. Patience’s eyes fell over the modest feast before them. The main course was a luscious meatloaf dressed with roasted miniature potatoes. To accompany it was a vegetable casserole. A dessert of apricot jam bundt cake remained tucked in the basket for now.

“Shoot. Forgot to pack glasses,” sighed Schuler. “You comfortable drinking from the bottle?”

“That will be fine.” Patience’s heart fluttered at the thought of sharing a bottle with Schuler. She breathed a little quicker as she piled food onto her plate.

“Did you make this?” asked Anax, flicking a tendril over a slice of meatloaf.

“Everything but the cake,” Schuler replied.

“Hm! I underestimated the breadth of your skills.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The meatloaf certainly was good, as was everything else. Patience was just as impressed with Schuler’s ability to cook. They made short work of the meal, cleaning off the dishes. Patience lapped up the last smear of sauce from her fork before remembering the dessert. They concluded they would save it for later and in the meantime digest.

The sun illuminated the pleasant view around them. The blackbirds sang their sharp melodies. Lounging on the picnic cloth, Patience plucked a blade of grass hovering over the edge. She sandwiched it in her palms between her thumbs, and maneuvered her hands between Anax’s jaws. She blew. A shrill bleat squealed through the air.

“What is that?” snapped Anax.

“It’s a grass whistle!”

“Okay, I’ve never tried this before, so don’t laugh,” Schuler said, fetching his own makeshift reed. Anax flinched at the noise whining from the man’s hands.

“You’ve never made a grass whistle before?” Patience uttered. “I did it all the time as a kid.”

“Well, I never had much time as a kid to do anything fun,” he explained, letting the blade of green flutter down from his hands.

“Oh, I didn’t know …” said the girl. Come to think of it, she knew very little of Schuler’s past. “What was it like growing up?”

“I was born in the midst of the war. My father was safe from the draft for a while, being a married man, but he soon had to serve his time. He came back at least, well, most of him. To make up for the wages he could no longer earn, my older brother Albert and I went to work as soon as we could. We even had to plead with our mother who wanted us to focus on our education instead. But we saw they were barely making ends meet and didn’t want to end up poorer than when our family first immigrated here. We’d take any job that would have us.”

“Where did you find the time to learn the guitar?”

“I found work running errands at a guitar-maker’s. It didn’t pay spectacularly, but the master of the establishment offered to teach me to play on the side. I thought it was a neat instrument and it gave me some reprieve from work, so I accepted.

“Albert gave me so much shit about not finding something that paid better. That was until I insisted he come to the workshop one afternoon and I played a bit for him. He saw that I had a knack for it and shut up after that,” Schuler chuckled.

“What did your parents think of it?”

“They were happy in a way. I suppose they felt a bit guilty … since I never had much of a childhood to enjoy myself. So they thrust their support into the one thing they found me to love.” He took a sip from the bottle. “It was a long while before that paid off, though. I just wish they were around when I had my first public performance.”

Patience gazed beyond the oak’s new foliage pensively. A small part of her wanted to ask how he handled the passing of his parents, but she thought it might be a wound best left alone for now. It was a beautiful day. She had to enjoy it.

Suddenly the distant clopping of hooves sounded on the road. Patience sat up, craning to see a wagon pulled by two mules coming toward them. Her neck bristled. This could be her chance to learn the history of this place. She sprang to her feet and hollered a greeting to the old man atop the wagon, waving him down. He slowed to a stop and tipped his hat.

Patience shyly approached him, Schuler rising behind her. “Excuse me, but you wouldn’t happen to have lived in these parts for a while?” she inquired sweetly.

“By the river. Only ever passed through here to get to Haverston.”

Patience’s face drooped.

“Any idea of who used to live here?” Schuler motioned around him.

“No one’s lived here for a long time. But there used to be people here.”

“What sort of people?” Patience asked.

“Folks from not around here.”

“From where, then?” she pressed.

“No idea. We left ‘em well alone.” The old man shrugged. “All we knew was they didn’t speak our language.” He stared at Patience. “They looked like you … just without that skull. Is that a cultural thing?”

Patience shifted on her feet. “Hardly so.”

“Do you remember a fire here?” prodded Schuler. “We came across some old, burnt bricks.”

“Hm … actually there was a drought that lasted some years a couple decades back. It was really dry here. Lots of wildfires, and a few homes burned too. But that’s all I know.”

Patience dipped her head and swallowed. She looked back up. “Thank you so much for your time!”

The old man nodded and tipped his hat once more. “Well, I best be off. Enjoy your picnic!”

They waved him farewell, watching the wagon mosey down the road. As it grew smaller and smaller in the distance, the sound of hooves faded into silence.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get a more definite answer,” said Schuler.

Patience faced him, her mouth widening into a smile. “This was already more than I could ask for!” She placed her hands on her hips. “I just wanted to find this tree, but some bricks too? And we have a vague idea of what happened here. Really, I couldn’t be happier.” She caught her breath. “This was all I needed to know … that I did come from somewhere.”

“Mm, being a fairy princess doesn’t sound too bad either, though,” Schuler quipped.

She chuckled as she let her eyes fall over the field. Things could have turned out very differently, but the girl was thankful for the life she knew and had. That smoldering curiosity in her heart had been quenched. It mattered not where her birth parents came from, she knew she came from here, this piece of land nestled in the woods of northeast Maryana. And like the black oak, this was where she was rooted. This was where her own history began. Finding this place had stilled something inside her.

The girl felt light on her feet. This day out required something to cap it off. “Want to climb the tree?” she asked, a grin pinching her cheeks.

“Would you like an escort to your palace, your royal highness?” asked the musician with a bow.

“How about I race you!” laughed Patience as she broke into a run.

“You can’t get a head start like that!” Schuler yelled as he darted after her.

The trunk was squat and fat, the first notch within easy reach. Patience lifted herself up onto a thick limb. From there she clambered up to the next foothold. As she rose higher and higher, a humming crescendoed at her nape.

“Are you all right, Anax?” she asked.

“My kind don’t normally climb trees,” he mumbled.

“Well, if you feel that I’m unsteady, you can easily anchor us with your tendrils.”

Immediately at the suggestion, Anax shot his vaporous ropes around the nearest bough. Patience chuckled to herself. She peered down and saw that Schuler was a few feet behind her.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Schuler huffed. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Patience smiled and returned her gaze above. She eyed a particular branch that looked solid enough to support them all. Its placement looked promising for a good view of the area. With some help from Anax, Patience maneuvered around the trunk to reach her target. A slimmer cross branch stretched over the thick bough and made an excellent handrail. She held on tightly, shuffling along, and slowly rose to her feet.

“Er, can I request a little help here?” gulped Schuler. He was stuck with one foot around the leader branch and his other on a limb stump.

“Anax, please?” cooed Patience.

Anax sighed and extended a hefty tendril to grasp the man’s forearm. He pulled Schuler up beside them.

Together they crept a short distance along the branch until their heads peeked out from the foliage. Patience and Anax gasped while Schuler let out a long whistle. The land lay in a green sheet below them, the road a mere brown strip crossing through a quilt of grass. The surrounding trees piled like dark wool at the periphery of the abandoned property. Beyond them were wooded knolls, gentle rolling waves in the earth. Bald patches revealed the rich soil of cleared fields, their crops barely beginning to spread green over them once again.

“Hey look!” said Schuler, tapping Patience’s back, “A sharp-shinned hawk!” He extended an arm over her shoulder. Patience followed his pointing finger to see a small hawk perched in a tree across the field. Its dusty gray head bowed into a russet and white chest. The girl smiled, bowing her head toward the man.

“Schuler, since when were you able to identify birds?” she teased.

“Decided to try a bit of birding while on tour,” he said. “Impressed?”

“A bit,” she smirked.

They then stood there for some time more, Anax firmly grasping the both of them, holding fast to the leading branch. The breeze picked up, the leaves rattling together until they became a chorus of waves breaking across soft sand. Nothing but green enveloped the trio. Patience felt so very far away from the coast. This was her domain. With Anax and Schuler at her side, Valon slipped further from her mind.

Once they were ready to leave, Anax refused to allow Patience and Schuler to attempt to navigate their way down themselves. He formed his body around Patience, with plenty of anchor tendrils still, and wrapped more coils around Schuler’s middle. Anax then gripped into the bark with his claws and more ropes, steadily maneuvering down to reach the trunk. From there it was merely a short hop until their feet felt the ground once more.

It amused Patience to see how careful Anax was. She could only surmise he feared falling again. Even in his second life, when he was capable of so much more with his body, he took precautions. They finished off the outing with the bundt cake that Schuler had bought from the Haighs’ bakery.

With everything packed, Schuler leaned against his motorbike. Patience strode out to the bricks in the field and bade a final farewell to this place. Nothing was said. She felt it in her heart. Patience gave a quick nod to the bricks and turned to the road.

On their way back toward Keaton, Patience’s head grew heavy under the accumulated weight of all that transpired in the past three weeks. Three weeks ago she had been reborn to the world. And in three weeks she had experienced a considerable amount. After everything, a well-deserved rest was needed.