Chapter Text
The world moved slow behind him.
Hoofbeats drummed against the dirt as the ranch hands drove cattle down the far pasture, their low whistles mixing with the steady creak of wagon wheels. From the barn came the sharp clang of a hammer meeting iron, the scent of singed hooves and hot metal curling through the midsummer air as the blacksmith reshoed the horses. A cicada buzzed somewhere in the brush, its droning hum rising with the heat.
But the man stood apart from it all.
He stood at the fence line, a lone figure against the rolling sea of corn and wheat, the fields stretching wide and endless beneath the rising sun. His boots were worn, dusted with the years, planted firm in the soil he had given half his life to. The other half, well—he reckoned that was scattered somewhere in the past, left in places he no longer dared visit.
A gust rolled in, bending the stalks in slow, whispering waves. He exhaled, watching the movement, and for a moment—just a flicker of time—he saw something else.
A boy.
Small, barefoot, running through the knee-high wheat, his laughter sharp as a coyote’s call. His dark hair flashing in the sun as he turned back, grinning, his cheeks smudged with dirt, his joy as untamed as the land itself. Tiny horns, a whip long tail, skin red as a drop of blood.
Then the wind shifted, and the boy was gone.
The man’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening over the fence rail. The past didn’t belong to him anymore, but that never stopped it from reaching back, from pulling at the edges of his heart like an old, familiar ache.
The scar on his face burned.
It ran deep, from temple to jaw, thick and knotted like an old rope. The kind of scar that made men look twice, that told stories without words. He had stopped caring how others saw it long ago. The only thing that mattered was what it meant.
Loss. Another gust, another ripple through the fields, and he swallowed down the weight of it.
“Pa!”
The voice cut through the silence like a spark, and before he could turn, small hands shoved against his back. He barely had time to react before a bundle of warmth and laughter collided with him, wrapping around his middle. Wings fluttered, and he felt feathers as she wriggled.
Jeanette. His youngest.
She was all bright brunette curls and boundless energy, her feathers catching flecks of gold in the morning light. Even standing still, she seemed to glow—light pooling in the curves of her face, in the glint of her wide, knowing eyes. Aasimar blood ran in her veins, a whisper of something divine, but he reckoned she didn’t need Gods in her lineage to be something holy. She was just like her Ma, an angel on the hot, hard dirt.
“You were starin’ off again,” she said, peering up at him with a knowing grin. He let out a slow breath, ruffling her hair with a rough, calloused hand.
“Just thinkin’, darlin’,” he murmured.
"I think you think too much," Jeanette scrunched her nose, unimpressed.
A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. He bent down, scooping her up with ease, her small arms wrapping tight around his neck. She smelled of summer—of sunshine and fresh hay, of something so painfully good it almost hurt. Her wings were so pretty now, a young woman nearly, but still just his baby.
The weight of the past still sat heavy on his shoulders. But here, in the golden hush of morning, with his daughter held close, he reckoned the weight didn’t feel so bad.