Excerpt:

Ventsei hiked the hill trails to remind him of that place long lost to him. The fragrant spruce and fir were the same as those he'd left behind, and their roots reached for the heart of the mountain with gnarled, patient fingers.

Time had passed since the eagle had landed on foreign soil and deposited a young boy and a woman who could not speak. The boy wandered far, the soles of his feet still burning with the dance. His mother followed three steps behind, a silent shadow whose grief faded-to-lingering with each step.

They drifted both north and west until they found a place where Ventsei could breathe without the air catching in his throat; a place where both the mountains and trees whispered "home" in his adopted language.