Bailee rose onto her toes and kissed him. Soft. Certain. Home.
Bear, who had lived a lifetime in silence, finally let himself answer. Forever. She slipped her hand into his, and they moved into rhythm together as the wind ruffled their hair playfully.
Epilogue
Sleeping Wind, Bear’s Residence, Bonita, California
Dusk gathered over Sleeping Wind in a slow veil of amber and violet, the sky pooling softly against the distant buttes. The land felt alive. The air held the warmth of the day and the cool promise of the coming night, the two weaving together like breath and heartbeat. A small fire burned in the center of the clearing, its glow steady and patient. The flames gave the sense of listening.
Bailee stood near Bear, her eyes soft and luminous. She looked at the scene as though she could see more than fire and boys and ceremony. Fly wondered what she saw. He wondered if she could feel the same thing he did, the quiet hum of something older stretching through the air.
He and Than stood shoulder to shoulder, close enough that their arms brushed. Shamrock hovered behind them with his arms crossed, trying hard to look casual even as his face kept slipping into something close to reverence.
Bear stepped forward with the bone-handled knife in one hand and a bowl of polished cedar in the other. Flint padded at his heel and settled near Bailee, ears pricked, gaze attentive. Even the dog knew this wasn’t an ordinary night. Cha?té Skúya’s whinny was soft on the wind, the big Paint ghostly white and shadow black just beyond the firelight.
Fly glanced at Than. The guy breathed in slowly, chest lifting with a weight Fly had never fully understood until now. Than’s long dark hair spilled over his shoulders, down his back, catching the firelight in soft inky waves. Fly’s own unruly red copper hair hung loose, in his haphazard style, the strands falling in fierce, wind-tossed waves around his face. He hadn’t bothered to tame it tonight. Something about the ceremony demanded honesty.
Bear’s presence was grounding, the kind of steady that made Fly stand straighter. The man didn’t speak loudly. He didn’t need to.
“Ready, brother?” Fly nudged Than’s arm.
Than nodded, his voice low but steady. “Ready.”
Bear looked at both of them with an expression Fly had never seen directed at him before. Pride maybe. Recognition. Something that felt like being claimed.
Bear handed the knife to Than. “You start. Your path. Your offering.”
Than’s fingers curled around the handle. Fly watched the way his friend’s throat worked, the way the fire softened the tension along his jaw. Than whispered his words to the flames, soft but clear.
“For what is behind me,” he whispered, “and for what comes next.”
The blade cut through the strands with a clean slice. The lock fell into the cedar bowl with a whisper, light as breath, heavy as memory. The fire flickered. The wind shifted. Fly felt the hair on his arms lift.
Than turned and handed him the knife.
Fly’s grin faded. Something raw and quiet opened up in his chest. He reached for a section of his own hair near his temple, feeling the rough ends from days of sun and salt and too little sleep. He held the strands gently. They felt like pieces of the kid he no longer wanted to be.
“This is for family,” he said, his voice steadier than he expected. “The one I was born with. The one I lost. The one I chose.”
The blades cut clean. The copper strands dropped into the bowl beside Than’s offering, the firelight struck through the brighter streaks, turning them molten. Two paths meeting in a way that made Fly’s throat tighten. Shamrock made a noise behind them, like he was clearing his throat, but Fly didn’t turn. He felt the truth of the moment shift through him like warmth.
Bear stepped closer and rested a hand on each of their shoulders. The weight was solid. Reassuring. A silent vow.
“You don’t do this alone,” Bear said quietly. “Not anymore.”
Fly felt something loosen beneath his ribs. For the first time in a long time, something that had been clenched finally eased.
Bailee watched them with shining eyes, the fire reflecting in the silver blue like tiny stars. She looked proud. She looked moved, and for some reason, that mattered too.
Bear held the bowl out. Fly and Than each placed a hand beneath it, palms touching the warm cedar. Together they lifted it toward the fire. The smoke curled in a graceful line, inviting.
“Place your offerings,” Bear said.
They tipped the bowl. The hair fell into the flames. It curled, glowed, and lifted in delicate spirals that rose like prayers into the darkening sky.
The wind stilled. The land listened. Fly felt the presence of the ancestors gather in the hush, brushing like warm breath across his skin.
He rested his hand briefly on Than’s shoulder. “We walk forward. Side by side.”
