Once Lance has safely crossed that obstacle, heart thudding, he realizes that the hardest step is still before him. The bank is steeper on this side than the other. It towers over his head, studded with roots and stones, but he knows by the loose look of the soil that those will be poor footholds.

He has to trek downstream about a quarter-mile before he finds a better approach, a slope he can almost walk up, leaning far over his knees; two small trees grow out of it, and he grips their trunks like they’re rungs on a giant ladder and vaults himself upward as fast as he can.

He’s almost there when his feet lose traction and he lands hard on his knees, skidding in the damp dirt, which is wet enough that he instantly feels it seep through the worn-thin knees of his jeans, cold on the skin beneath. Scrambling up, he grips the top of the ledge with hands like claws and drags himself the rest of the way with a desperate gasp.

He rolls over onto his back at the top. He’s made it. The sky is blue overhead, and the air is misty and cool—a stark contrast to his body, which was heated by the climb. Sweat dries fast and tacky on his forehead. He can feel something rough against the back of his head, and, grimacing, he sits up to find that he now has a clod of mud and a few twigs in his hair. He tugs them loose as he gets to his feet and walks slowly toward the tree line. He’s disoriented, but he thinks he should still be pretty close to the Chases’ place.

And he is. He wriggles through the fence and finds himself in a narrow pasture that wraps around smaller, dirt corrals attached to a massive old barn. He’s seen stone barns before—they’re fairly common—but never one this big and meticulously preserved.

Similarly, lots of people keep horses, but he can tell instantly that there’s a higher standard of care going on at the Chases’ as he takes in the pens of sleek animals about fifty yards away. Set apart from them is a working round pen, where a horse the color of a sunbeam, pale gold with a silver mane and tail, trots in a circle. In the middle of the pen, pivoting to watch the animal’s every move, is Danny’s brother Robbie.

On the top rail of the fence, Johnny is perched, watching Robbie carefully. Lance can hear the low murmur of their voices but not their exact words. Wherever Danny is, he’s out of sight.

Lance thought he’d emerge from the creekbed further from the Chases’ home, but because of the curving orientation of the creek, he’s actually nearer. He’s also opposite the property from the driveway, where he’d planned to appear and claim his father had dropped him off at the road, like the school bus would have.

He realizes his mistake too late. Before he can escape back into the trees, the golden horse sees him. It shies violently, kicking out with its rear legs and veering so closely to Robbie that he has to step back.