Boring, pointless days where he’d done little but mope around the farmhouse or trail behind his dad in the fields. Even the crops had picked up on his malaise. They’d been quiet on his walks, and there’d been no sign of the golden mist that had graced his previous visits. The light was failing as he sat under the oak in the top field, the dullness of the day removing any hope of a decent sunset to watch. A rustle in the hedgerow drew his attention, and he looked up to see a head of shaggy blond hair appear as Mike pushed himself through the hedge. “Hi. What you doing here?” “Hi, Bobby,” said Mike, running his fingers through his hair to dislodge the twigs and dried leaves. “Your dad said he thought you’d be up here.” Mike landed next to him under the tree, sitting cross-legged and smiling. “I’ve been thinking….” “Did it hurt?” The remark was automatic, a barb they’d shared countless times. “More than it should’ve, that’s for sure.” “And?” “Tell me about your city,”
