The Hearth could be a good thing...it still could be, if they would just -

Tradition. Nature. Instinct? It was like driving down the road and you see a deer in a field.

You begin to slow.

The deer looks up at you.

You honk the horn.

The deer takes a step back.

You flash your lights on and off.

"The land doesn't have to be owned for a Hearth to work, we can just do the leases, and we don't even know if they're even important."

Weston took a sip of bourbon. Too sweet - Chase was spoiling him.

"It doesn't even do anything remarkable, it's just some sort of management suite. All it says is who lives in the house and paperwork, you could write that on a napkin and wipe your ass with it for all the good it will do."

The other members of the study glared at Weston. Of course this was his fault - if he'd only told them sooner. If he'd warned them...

"We have to keep the Complexes full if we're going to maintain their upkeep cost, we are at a pivotal place, we need the labor for this harvest, we're cash poor."

Cash Poor.

Weston felt it like a slap, and it was.

The balls on his Uncle for saying it out loud. Good for him.

And yet it was also laughable, they were sitting on over ten square miles of real estate plus half of Red Hills. From a purely logical point of view they were 10000x wealthier then Hickory. More?

Before they knew about the Hearth. Because it changed the numbers again, it changed what it meant. That in a way perhaps owned land, leased land - once those leases expired people would be moving out, perhaps buying them out early because of the Hearth.

The Dungeonists were excited, didn't even think to check if it mattered if somebody owned the land, who would build a house on land they didn't own?

What was the Hearth?

Nobody knew the extent yet - but there was obvious speculation. Bank access, perhaps mail? Communication? A journal, family histories, house histories? Weather?

Perhaps it just kept track of how much milk there was -

Hearth: Level One

How did you get it level up?

And of course Hickory had the Dungeonists all fishing! Established an Order. The Dungeonists had been trying to unlock a guild hall for weeks, they'd worn stupid outfits, come up with all sorts of ridiculous ceremonies and...

The Font. The Hearth. The Order.

It had been the missing link of course, they could have started a Guild - that's what the Hearth truly was, an 'Outside' organization. A family. a guild, a trading company, a business...independent of the Font. Not reliant on its points...

It didn't even have to be a damn fireplace! Just something important, integral to the structure. Imbued with power and marbles were the easiest way - a Heirloom. Not easily movable -

That was all it was, layers...

Who would want to move? Knowing that? When you could own the land and build a living house? A Smart House? If they did level up, and it provided additional benefits? The Hearth could become worth more then the structure itself!

Who would rent a house and level up somebody else's Hearth? Sure the Complexes were great short term, the Book there allowed you simple furniture, basic necessities, but even those drew on the Font since the Covangers hadn't added Marbles yet - points had to be allocated to each person, or the structure altogether, it was a micromanaging nightmare!

"We're still looking at a five year adoption rate based on labor projections and resources, even with concentrated effort we're talking about building just three houses a day, and with the Red Hills Palace consuming the vast majority of resources? It's likely an additional three months before people can truly begin to start new neighborhoods."

Weston suppressed a groan. There had been fly swatters for sell in the market by the time Weston had left the meeting.

"Weston?" Grandfather asked -

"Structure forty percent of the land in lease to own contracts, sell ten percent zoned industry and commercial to develop the sectors, use the existing structures we've built from the Book as transitional labor camps and recruitment facilities so they aren't wasted. We have the largest food density resource capabilities, shortly we will have enough melons alone to feed our population for a year."

Weston paused, making sure they understood -

"The problem is there is only so many melons a person wants to eat and we have to consider all perishables as luxury food items, we have to look at what the true resource is: People."

"Our existing business model is almost inverted to what's currently effective, we're structured to profit off the land - oil, cattle, real-estate and we're using Red Hills as a comparative model and the issue is Hickory is running a non-profit."

"Then how is he-"

"Building a Palace? Because his government is a non-profit but his commercial interests are for profit, people spend money at the Casino and Bar, he posts a contract to build a section as soon as he can afford it.

"But the true reason is Hunter, because Hunter has made Labor more efficient and modular. But the reason Hunter has done that is because of People. It's not even a secret, people are imitating him which drives his prices down and increases competition, he changed it to bottom up supply, he eliminated corporate structure and even employment by essentially turning every person into a small business.

"And I'm not inferring we need to compete with him directly, we can have our own niche but if we intend to do that we have to do it directly and aggressively. We aren't even behind, we're positioned better than Red Hills in every single way, all the cards are in our favor but we have to make a bet if we want to win, we can't just sit at the table."

The men stared at him - mouths open, and that's when he realized he'd not only cut Grandfather off, he'd spoken over him completely.

His Uncle wasn't the only man with balls - and Weston knew that by apologizing he would look weaker, but...this wasn't just about balls. This was about Family. Love. Respect. Working together toward the benefit of all.

That for them - Weston was Proud.

That for them - Weston was a Servant.

They weren't exclusive.

"Pardon, Grandfather. No disrespect was intended."

Weston nodded and returned to his chair, and they could read him. They knew his emotion. They could feel it, what was in his heart. His Blood -

That had been the secret, the gift. He'd been trying to suppress it all along, hide what he was feeling from his family? Why?

That when he was with the guys, his Best Good Buddies, it was like they mentally unfastened that top button on their pants, let their guts hang out, their emotion.

Hickory had cried - admitted to it.

Weston had always considered being a man was hiding weakness, bluffing. Confidence. Competition. It could be, it could be all those good things but then...why?

That had been the flaw, the reason to be a Man, why did they always have to show strength? It was to inspire others, you showed strength not to bully, not to outmaneuver, but to inspire them.

That friendship, that loosening of the button only came from the closest, those that you respected the most not because you were afraid to be vulnerable. That was the gift!

That you respected a Man so much that you knew your own weakness wouldn't harm him, that instead you let him give you strength. It had been terrible to understand that. Terrible to see the stoic faces in this room and know...

For them it was the opposite.

Weston let them see him. Good. Bad. And Ugly - Salad. That he was careful to keep his thoughts on the meeting, on the subject matter, because as soon as they wandered to his latest realization. His revelation.

Bad Blood.

The only question was which one? Which one had done it? Which one had known this whole time, his whole life?

And if they were capable of that? Of that? Which is why Weston was in two places, because he had to know, and he couldn't risk anybody knowing what he knew...almost.

Because somebody had figured it out even before he did, even with less clues. No Blood Power. Perhaps even before the Font appeared, and if they could...

"Aunt Rebecca." Weston said sitting down in a private room, "I need to know how I'm related to Hickory."

She had been so close! May could feel it, the looming end to this terrible chapter. The climax of this act!

He was coming to her.

Perhaps it would have been bearable if not for the flag, that tragic task, that need to ponder his pennon, to have her handiwork there upon his pole, yet it was that very obsession that also consumed her.

What could be more important than a flag? That singular stitchwork, to embody the very soul of a settlement. That careful combination of color choreographed to contain a country's character -

Hickory

Hickory's Flag

Was it even possible? To fit all of him, all what he was within a single panel of cloth? May tried. Tried to fill that space, that one small box with all of him -

And of course he'd been strutting about, crowing in delight from accomplishments uncounted, that certainly a rooster was what she thought of, imagining him -

That as she bent over her desire, that fowl longing for satisfaction, she knew it to be impossible, it wouldn't fit.

She realized the spite, the impossibility of the task, to even attempt to contain him within those boundaries was unbearable. Painful.

That she thought of his traps, that thick rope he had, how he'd shown her how it was hung, that wide limb and the amount of pressure and how he baited it -

May realized it was her that was entangled when she'd finally finished, that she had to do it again, that for all he was ready and waiting, that was not all of him either.

That if he wasn't a trap then certainly she could portray his wildness, his freedom. That she thought of a lion, that hungry cat, but it was two-dimensional, flat - like it had been smashed.

That before May had found him simple, predictable, and yet here she stood unable to put him on a pennant.

It was all about perspective, she realized. That you couldn't really see him, understand him from up close.

Just as you can't see the forest from the trees, you stand next to the mightiest tree and not comprehend it. That it's easy to be impressed with how wide its trunk is, but there was so much more -

That if you look down you can't see it's depth because it's grounded. You look up but it's surrounded, the smaller trees hug it so tightly - they prop it up because they believe he can be better, grow beyond - that through those entangled branches he lifts them all higher...

But a tree didn't fit either. Because Hickory wasn't really about a tree, he wasn't about himself. He provided shade, shelter for so many. That to understand Hickory, to fit all of him on a flag, you ended up not seeing him at all -

May finished the flag of the Red Hills. It was the Red Hills. He loved it.

"Holy shit it's a pair of tits."

Weston waited for her to stop crying. He offered a handkerchief, one that May had made him, a simple border of hooves his sophisticated aunt used it to trample her emotion.

"Benjamin." Rebecca said, "Is Hickory's father."

"Tell me what happened." Weston asked, not minding his own business. A part of him felt relieved, another part? He'd wanted Hickory to be his brother...

Rebecca shook her head - "It was...she was...innocent. Younger. Naive."

Weston nodded.

"Benjamin was reckless. And she got pregnant."

Weston felt confused, knew it wasn't the first time -

"Some thought she was after money, I never thought so, she was intelligent, attractive. She loved him, maybe young love but it's why it went so badly it was just...

"She didn't want an abortion, Christian, but she was also so young, so an alternative was offered - in exchange for funds, she agreed to let us adopt him. Let me adopt him..." There was a choking pause. "Then she changed her mind."

Aunt Rebecca began to cry again.

"I raised Cory, I named him, had him for three months. He was put in my arms after being born, he's my baby, too.

"She had a c-section, she couldn't sign the paperwork due to medication. She'd begun suffering anxiety in the third trimester and he was so beautiful, so perfect, I couldn't even blame her, I feel the same way, would steal him back if I could and I thought about it.

"I went against the family, he was only entitled to a portion of Benjamin's wealth, of course the Trust was protected. It wasn't about the money, she tried to give it back, but he's still a Covanger."

Weston nodded.

Family.

"Myrtle healed, got help, she told me she couldn't give him up, but neither could I. Her anxiety never went away, and...he became all she had in the world. He became the reason she gave up her life.

"I helped her raise him, prepared him - she permitted me that, but she didn't want him to be a Covanger, she was heartbroken over Benjamin and her bitterness only grew and she pushed that lifestyle away, held a hatred for anything refined, anything that had attracted her to him in the first place. Maybe that's why she lied, maybe she didn't want Hickory to know he was a bastard... Just small lies in the beginning but they grew.

"She said she wouldn't let me see him anymore if I told him the truth, she started pushing me out of their lives afraid I'd slip, and when she realized how fragile the lies were she retreated, cloistered herself, him - or she tried to.

"She hid Hickory from the world, afraid somebody would find out, afraid that Hickory would hate her because of the life he could have had if she'd let me have him."

"Never." Weston said and Rebecca nodded.

"I know, but love isn't rational, it was only when I realized that I was doing the same as her, that for fear of losing him - I'd allowed him not to be educated, not to have a life, that I forced the issue and..."

Weston comforted her, did his best - he could imagine the suffering, could see in Rebecca's eyes the motherly love she held for Hickory, that she was also so incredibly proud of him?

"Who else knows?" Weston asked.

"Grandmother."