The open mountainscape views soon turn to a dense forest trail.

Well, there's one mountain peak visible up ahead, but other than that, it's just a multitude of trees. I notice there's a river to the left that follows the trail, and my mind recalls John's letter.

Something about moving across water without moving my body at all? What the heck did he mean by that?

The tight dirt path fades into a wider paved road, and as the clock strikes 4:05, I realize that we're nearing Chickaloon.

To the left, we pass a hidden driveway. To the right, we pass another.

Then, a green sign standing out amongst the white snow: 'Chickaloon River.'

As we pass over it, I notice just how broad and cold the river itself looks.

And, as we continue down the road, more mountain peaks come into view, and the woods surrounding us look even more impenetrable.

The sky is a cloudy grey, causing the subjects beneath it to all look low-spirited.

I can't wait to see this place in the summertime.

"So, I forgot to ask," Roan starts. "Where exactly do you need to go?"

"Oh! The tavern," I answer.

"The...tavern?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing, I just thought you were visiting someone?"

"Yes, at the tavern."

"Hm."

This road seems never-ending, drawing us deeper into the wilderness of Alaska.

But then, as we turn a corner, buildings come into view.

I count six houses, along with a motel and a tavern. There's also a small grocery store, it looks like, along with a building that might be a sort of gas station.

"It's a small village of about 100 or so people. There's hardly any visitors. They all share resources to survive."

I just nod, intrigued.

Roan pulls the truck into the parking lot of the tavern; a log cabin styled rectangular building with a similar-looking motel right next to it.

"Here we are."

I unbuckle, grabbing my bag from the backseat. Then, I turn to him. "Thank you, how much do you want?"

He frowns, "Nothing, it's fine. I was coming here anyway, and you weren't too annoying, I suppose."

"Well, thanks!"

And with that, I open up the passenger door and hop out onto the snowy ground. The cold air hits me immediately, sending chills down my spine.

I shut the door behind me and throw my duffle bag over my right shoulder, about to start towards the tavern door. However, I stop when I hear a truck door open and close.

"Wait!" Roan calls, and I turn around to face him.

"Yeah?"

He hands me a piece of paper, and I take it, putting it in my right coat pocket along with the three numbers from earlier.

"Here's my number, in case you need anything. And my father's name is Richard. The second driveway we passed was his."

"You mean he lives," I jab my thumb out to the left, "all the way back there?"

Roan nods before turning around. "Later, Jane."

"Okay, well, thanks again!"

I don't wait for him to drive off, as it's much too cold out for that nonsense.

Instead, I turn back around, facing the brown two-story building in front of me. The roof is a slanted burgundy, with a brick chimney coming out from it.

There are no windows. Just the one wooden door in front of me.

So, I don't even know if it'll be open.

But then again, Roan wouldn't have left me here if it was closed, would he? And, it's Alaska; I imagine the tavern should be open by 4.

Also, there's smoke coming out of the chimney, which is also an indicator that there are people inside.

And, where there's smoke, there's fire. And someone had to start the fire.

Either way, there's really only one way to find out.

So, breathing in deeply, I walk towards the tavern and pull on the metal handle.

The door is heavy, but it opens, and immediately, I'm greeted with a gush of warm air.

I hastily move into the tavern, letting the door noisily creak shut behind me.

I cringe at the loud squeaking, watching as eleven eyes immediately turn to assess me.

One balding man with a red beard in the far corner sits drinking from a tall mug. He has a black eye patch over his left eye. He's almost as pale as I am. However, his nose is bright red.

Well, mine's probably, too.

The other five people in the building look to be indigenous, native.

One woman, four men.

The woman is the one behind the bar, which is decorated with Christmas lights. She's wearing a simple gray long-sleeved shirt.

She looks to be about 40, one long braid falling down her left shoulder down to her hip. Heart-shaped, creased face. Her nose is delicate, and her lips are small but full. Her eyes, however, seem cold and hard.

Three men are lined up at the bar with what looks to be whiskey in front of them. The final man is seated across from the one with the eye patch. He has long hair, which goes down to his shoulders. And, he looks to be about 40, just like the woman. When I make eye contact with him, he smiles warmly.

He seems nice.

I don't pay any attention to the three men at the bar, just yet, however. I've been standing here in this same spot awkwardly for a bit, so I make up my mind to focus on the woman, even though she's glaring at me.

I try to smile, walking up to the bar, hating having all eleven eyes on me.

I mean, my psychosocial state sucks as it is.

And now, in a foreign state with strangers?

Oh God, just how inarticulate am I going to be?

I take a deep breath, hoping that I can at least give a greeting.

"Hello," I choke on spit in the back of my throat, starting to cough, which makes the 'o' sound come out sort of strangled.

Wow.

One of the men at the bar snorts, but no one greets me back.

I laugh lightly, feeling my cheeks go red as I try to remember precisely what Uncle John's letter said.

I mean, you'd think I'd have it memorized by now, but I have a pretty unfortunate memory.

Okay, now let's see...how did it go?

Something like how I'm supposed to find the two people who remind me most of my parents and then let them know who I am.

Great, so I actually have to like, talk?

I can't just say my name or whatever?

I have to let them know who I am after I figure out who the two people are?

That's kind of tedious, but okay.

I slide into the seat at the bar, setting my duffle bag down at my feet as I just now realize how stupid I probably look.

Trapper hat, ugly yellow choppers, big black coat. Pale, acne-prone skin. Grungy hair that almost reaches my rib cage.

The two men off to the side, who are sitting at a table, are no longer paying me any attention. However, the three men at the bar and the bartender are still staring at me.

"Hello," I repeat, managing to actually say it correctly this time.

"You've said that already," one of the men at the bar says. He's the one that's farthest away from me, seated to my left.

His hair is hidden under a simple wool hat, and his face screams 'tired.' His hat is nice. He looks about 40 something, and he honestly just looks like he couldn't care less about anything. Tired eyes, hawk nose, big mouth but thin lips. His face is an oval shape, and it's lined with wrinkles.

Alaska really takes a toll on a person, huh?

I mean, I have some wrinkles around my eyes, but I have a feeling I'll get a lot more out here.

"Yes, well, I don't care," I say back to him.

He grunts.

"Thanks for the warm greeting, by the way," I say to no one in particular.

"You're welcome," the man closest to me says. I turn my head to look at him.

He looks to be in his late twenties to early thirties, and his cheekbones are nice. Raven-colored hair isn't very long. Dark, almond-shaped eyes that are refusing to glance at me. Circular face lined with fewer wrinkles than the others.

Finally, the woman speaks up.

"Can I get you anything?"

I could go for some rootbeer right now, actually.

But, I'm okay with water. I should save all the money I can.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Then, why are you here?" The man in the middle who is one seat over from mine asks.

He seems to be the oldest, maybe in his sixties? Not much hair on his head, but his circular face has a faint mustache. He seems indifferent. His jacket looks nice and warm, though.

"I'm looking for a couple of people," I answer him.

"Oh? Who?"

"I don't know their names."

He takes a sip of his drink. "Then how do you expect to find them?"

"Apparently, they're supposed to remind me of my parents."

He grunts. What's with everyone doing that?

"And what are your parents like?"

"Well," I start, then stop.

What were they like?

Flashbacks of summer bike rides and butterfly chasing come back to me, filling my mind with dusty but ethereal memories. It's like having your favorite childhood book put away on a shelf too high to reach and forgetting all about it until you're tall enough to grab it yourself. You take the book, dust it off, and then you flip through it. It's an emphatic sentimentality that makes you feel like you wish you never grew up.

I frown, taking in all the memories and assessing them in hindsight. "My mother was the type to come off a bit too rigid, but once you got to know her, you'd realize she only wanted the best for the people she cared about, and she only saw the best in them. She thought board games were a waste of time, but she loved them anyway. She was dedicated to her job and always gave 100%. My father was the nice guy who everybody liked. Never failed to make me laugh. Always listened and tried to understand, even if it was pointless."

Huh. Maybe their memory isn't starting to fade after all.

Everyone in the room is looking at me again, and I suddenly think, 'Why can't I just go be a recluse somewhere in the woods already?'

The older man is silent for a moment, then speaks up, "I think you're looking for Henry and Nina."

The bartender glares at him, "David, no."

He ignores the woman.

"Where can I find Henry and Nina?" I ask the man I now know as David.

He ignores me.

"The sooner I get an answer, the sooner I can leave you guys alone," I try to persuade.

The bartender sighs, admitting, "I'm Nina."

Then, she points to the man sitting across from the one with the eyepatch at the table. The one who smiled at me when I walked in. "And that," she says, "is my husband, Henry."

"Oh!"

But, what if they actually aren't the ones my uncle was talking about? Should I try to get to know them better or just take the risk and tell them who I am?

I breathe in and out deeply, thinking for a moment.

And, because I'm impatient and stupid, I decide on the latter rather than the former.

I glance around at the six people in the room.

My uncle clearly implied that I should keep my identity a secret, so maybe it would be best to be discreet.

"Could I talk to you two in private or something?" I request kindly.

Nina's thick eyebrows furrow. But nonetheless, she nods cautiously. "You follow me. Henry, come along."

She walks out from behind the bar and to the side of it, pushing on a dark wooden door that opens to a separate room.

Grabbing my bag from the floor, I slide off the stool and do as she says, following after her.

Footsteps behind me let me know that Henry is following, also.

Well, I'm taking the risk. Let's just hope that Henry and Nina are the people who my uncle was talking about.

I really just cannot believe myself. Giving out my identity based on a random stranger's assessment of similar personalities?

Trusting in strangers again, huh, Mikaere?

One of these days, my desperate, trusting nature will only dig me a more bottomless pit to climb out of. I just know it.

I push open the door to see Nina sitting in a rocking chair by a fireplace to the left. Along the walls, there are a couple of shelves lined with books. And on the floor, there's a fluffy, navy-colored rug.

To the right of the doorway where I'm standing, is a curved staircase that leads to the second floor.

I move out of the way and to the left, so Henry can come in.

Then, Nina speaks up. "So? What do you have to discuss?"

I nod, clearing my throat.

Well, here goes nothing.