“Did you push Fly’s buttons to get to me. I swear, if you did?—.”
Shawl lifted his eyes to him, calm and unruffled. “Did I push Fly’s buttons?” he asked. “No. I asked him a question. He took the rest on himself.” Than’s jaw tightened. “He came to me because he wants to heal,” Shawl went on, his voice steady, unembellished. “Because he wants to lead. He already is. He’s been leading this whole time, whether you’ve been willing to see it or not.” Shawl’s gaze didn’t waver. “He led you to me.”
Than scoffed. “So, I’m just a dumb fuck. That’s what you’re saying?”
Shawl shook his head once. “No. You’re scared.”
The words landed with the force of a physical blow, stripping the heat out of Than’s chest and leaving something raw behind it. Damn this man and his insights.
“Fear is powerful,” Shawl went on. “It’s understandable. Adaptive. It keeps men alive until it’s the deciding factor.”
“Of losing guys under my command?” Than shot back, his hands curling at his sides.
“Maybe,” Shawl said. “That’s not mine to answer.”
Than looked away, his gaze catching on the dark window, the faint reflection of himself staring back like someone he was beginning to recognize again.
“I’m not here to tell you who you are,” Shawl said. “You already know. I can see that as clearly as I can see who Fly is.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t soften it either. “What I will say is this. The things you’ve decided are too dangerous or shameful to name don’t disappear. They change shape. They harden. They twist.”
Shawl’s words impacted, and Than’s chest tightened, a familiar pressure he’d learned to live with.
“There’s no shame in being human,” Shawl added. “Or flawed. Friendship requires mutual self-revelation. Not all at once. But eventually.” Than swallowed. “You keep wondering whether you can lead,” Shawl said. “That’s a heavy question. But it’s not the urgent one.” His eyes held Than’s. “The urgent question is whether you can be a friend to Fly while carrying the truth you’re hiding from him.”
The silence that followed pressed in from all sides.
“You want to know what I’m hiding?” Than asked, right on the verge of losing his shit because it was just getting too hard to hold on to.
“No,” Shawl said calmly. “Not right now. That isn’t for me.” He leaned back slightly, giving Than space without retreating. “It’s for Fly. He’s the one who owns it.” Than’s hands clenched into fists, his shoulders locking. “You’re trying to out-muscle work that has to be done inside,” Shawl continued. “BUD/S won’t fix that. It will amplify it. It will become the hammer that breaks you instead of the forge that tempers you.”
Than dropped into the chair at the table, the movement heavy and abrupt. “Then how the hell do I handle this?” he said hoarsely. “I’m drowning. I can’t lose him too.”
Shawl reached out and set a firm hand on Than’s shoulder, grounding him.
“That’s the first step,” he said. “Naming it.” Than dragged in a breath that shook despite his effort to control it. “Maybe it’s time you find your path the Lakota way,” Shawl said. “The way Fly is finding his.”
Than looked up at him. “A vision quest.”
Shawl nodded.
The next few days were about instruction and Fly's absence. It felt strange and unsettling to be without him. They had spent almost every waking moment together for four years, and now this was his wake-up call. He and Fly were diverging, moving forward into an unknown world.
But being physically apart was different from being apart in a way that left no opening for the kind of friendship Than couldn’t lose.
But right now, that world fell away in the rumble of Bear’s old truck. It fell away again with the crunch of Than’s boots on gravel, leaving behind the last traces of road, of people, of the life he knew. Bear had driven for an hour, deep into land shaped by generations before him, then stopped without ceremony. He clapped Than on the shoulder, his eyes holding a knowing that didn’t need words, then turned back toward the truck and left.
Than was alone.
The silence hit first. Wind moving through the Ponderosa pines. The buzz of an insect somewhere he couldn’t see. The slow, steady beat of his own heart. Shawl had prepared him with words about circles, fasting, prayer. None of that mattered now. Words didn’t carry weight out here.
He found the place Shawl had described, a high meadow held between granite hills worn smooth by time. He marked the circle with prayer ties, red for courage, blue for wisdom, yellow for spirit, then sat in the center on the folded buffalo robe that smelled of dust and age. His pipe lay untouched. The canteen sat within reach, a concession Shawl had insisted on for a first quest. The Great Mystery didn’t test the body to break it. It tested the spirit to open it.
Day one was a fight with his own mind. His stomach growled, an animal complaint that wouldn’t be ignored. Thoughts swarmed and bit. Mei’s smile. His last argument with Fly. The sharp voice of doubt telling him he didn’t belong. He tried to pray. The words felt borrowed and thin. He was just a man on a rock, hungry and scared. He lay back on the robe and let the sun press its weight into his chest. He didn’t fight the thoughts. He didn’t run. He endured. This kind of suffering he understood.
Dusk came slow and bruised the sky purple. A lone howl rose from somewhere distant. A statement. I’m here. Loneliness and belonging braided together in one sound. Than closed his eyes and let the thoughts come. Mei’s face. The remembered weight of her hand in his. The pain cut clean and sharp, and he let it.
By the second morning the hunger had settled into a dull hollow. His mind had quieted. The frantic noise fell away and left space behind. He felt the land then, not just saw it. Life moving in the soil beneath him. Resilience in the tough grass. The patient age of the hills watching without judgment. He felt small, and the smallness didn’t frighten him. It steadied him.
He prayed without words. Breath in rhythm. Heart beating against bone. He prayed for Mei. He prayed for Fly. He prayed for the strength to be worthy of their love. He poured what he’d been holding into the ground, shame, resentment, fear, and asked the earth to take it.
