Mal stood on the ledge, high above the plains of Shadow, and watched birds wheeling below him on the thermals created by the Wraith Mountains. Towards the horizon he thought for a moment he could see the smoke rising from his home, but he knew that was highly unlikely, not at this distance.

Still, his mother always did say his reach exceeded his sight, like when he spent long evenings in the field behind the house, staring up at the stars. His Ma would join him, smiling as she accused him of trying to see to the edge of the ‘verse, but sometimes he saw sadness in her eyes, and he knew she was thinking about the future.

“Don’t worry, Ma,” he assured her the last time. “Not plannin’ on going anywhere.”

“You’re fifteen, Malcolm. You don’t know what’s gonna happen, no more’n I do. And there are things ...”

He took her hand, feeling the calluses on her palm, her fingers, testimony to the hard work she put in to making the ranch run, keeping the men employed, the cattle in the right place at the right time, and grinned, all his youth in his blue eyes. “Can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Mal ...”

She’d be baking, right now, he knew. Kneading the bread, leaving it to rise, then sliding it into the oven ... and filling the house with the smell that made his mouth water. He smiled, half of him wishing he were at home right now.

Still, the rest of him was glad the school was closed for a week, ostensibly to allow the kids to help with the last of the harvest, but in reality most of the corn had been gathered in, and while there were still apples to be picked and potatoes dug, virtually all the children were taking advantage of the last good days before the winter closed in.

Ms Gingrich, the teacher, had been telling them about the seasons, how this part of Shadow had been settled because it had the same yearly cycle as the northern hemisphere of Earth-that-was. “Christmas in the winter, Easter in spring, and All Hallow’s Eve at the autumn change ... it’s why settlers came here. Maybe their