He didn’t know a human could walk this much without his feet or legs falling off, or both. He didn’t know a human could be so hot and so cold within the same day, or that a human could be hungry and thirsty enough that he considered devouring one of his own hands for the meat and blood. But he knew, now. Every inch of him wanted to go back to his people—to the monotony, the food, the schedule, the safety. He missed his shifts atop the wall, searching the horizon for intruders that rarely came. Even all the sanctimonious metaphors. He missed saving kids from savage beatings.

He wondered, often, about the boy. About Kit. It was very possible that Minho had made life worse for him, that maybe dying would’ve been the merciful route. But he avoided those lines of thought, imagining instead that Kit would grow up and do something great. Someday. Yes, definitely. Someday.

Sleet and rain had turned into sunshine and heat. He’d been across a vast plain, through a dusty canyon, up and down a mountain. He’d eaten berries, leaves, the remains of a recently deceased deer, joining the birds and the rats in their feast. It had been quite the task to keep it down, to keep it from coming back up—but then what a waste. After such a degrading, disgusting meal, he didn’t want it to be for naught. He’d maintained, eaten more, accepted the nourishment.

Water had finally arrived, in the form of creeks and rivers that had been sparse the first couple of days. Whenever he quenched his thirst, slaked by the cool glory of natural streams or pools, it only served to remind him how hungry he was. There’d been only one dead deer in his week of wandering the wilderness. Walking the wilderness. However, contrary to the expectations of the Grief Bearers and acolytes back home, he walked in one direction without turning back.

West. To the ocean, to the shore. Then he’d head north, knowing there’d be no stray path from that point on. The sea to the left, land to the right, up and up until you run into the place called Alaska.

Home of the Godhead.

Being an Orphan had trained him to be patient and tough. The journey might take months for all he knew. Probably would, in fact. He didn’t fear it. He feared nothing.

A building, up ahead.