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My voice echoes through the trees.

Nothing answers.

Only the steady rhythm of Bramble’s hooves striking the ground.

“Dad!”

The forest swallows the sound.

I call again.

And again.

Each time, I pause long enough to listen for a response that never comes.

The farther we travel, the harder it becomes to ignore what I already know. My father should have been home last night. He should have been sitting beside the fireplace wrapped in his favorite blanket while I reheated whatever food he’d inevitably complained about at the fair. He should have been describing every invention he’d seen while insisting his seed planter was still the best design in attendance.

He should have been home.

Instead, I’m riding through the woods struggling to breathe around the fear that he might never make it there.

The road eventually splits into two paths.

I pull gently on the reins. Bramble slows.

One road continues toward the village hosting the fair. The other cuts sharply through the trees before disappearing into the forest.

I study the ground.

Melting snow has transformed much of the road into thick mud marked by wagon wheels and hoofprints. Most of the tracks are distorted badly enough that they’re almost impossible to follow. Water fills the deepest ruts. Scattered patches of snow continue melting into the earth.

A dark shape near the edge of the path catches my attention.

I slide from the saddle so quickly that my boots slip when they strike the ground.

My knees sink into the mud.

My hand closes around a glove.

My father’s glove.

I know it immediately.

The leather is worn smooth across the fingertips. A small tear near the thumb catches my eye because I’d offered to repair it more times than I can count. Every time, he laughed and insisted it wasn’t nearly as damaged as I claimed.

He always refused.

I close my eyes, unable to look at what I’m holding for a second. When I straighten, my gaze follows the faint tracks disappearing along the narrower road.

Straight into the woods.

“Dad!”

My voice breaks this time.

The trees stand motionless.

No answer comes.