The caller was Walter Grayson, whose voice sounded unusually nervous through the speaker. “Caleb,” the old rancher said slowly, “you need to come up here and see the place you left behind. Something serious is happening on that land.”
The next morning Caleb began the long journey back to the mountain, driving part of the way before continuing on foot along the old dirt road which had become almost invisible under years of wild grass and creeping branches. The climb stretched nearly forty kilometers and every step stirred old memories that made his chest feel tight with anxiety.
He wondered if the structures he had built had already collapsed or if the forest had swallowed every trace of the dream he once chased so desperately.
When he finally rounded the last bend in the road he stopped abruptly because the clearing ahead looked strangely alive.
The pig pens he had built were still there but the metal roof had become covered with thick vines and leaves while the wooden fences blended into the surrounding forest. Tall trees had grown where bare soil once existed and the narrow paths he used to walk every day had almost vanished.