Someplace Far Away

Can you hear me calling you?

Don't you feel how much I need you?

Across the mountains and streams, 

I whisper your name. 

I call out to you in my dreams. 

When you come, 

You'd take my hand so tenderly

And promise never to leave me. 

You'd speak to me with such words of love

And swear your love to me by the spirits above.

—"Can You Hear Me" by Louise Riveiro

Hota jerked awake. He had dreamt of him again. 

The elders believed that the dream world was as real as the physical world. They often said that the spirits used dreams to lead one to their fate.

Hota did not hold with the faith of his elders, nor did he hold to the faith of his mother. 

A dream was just a dream. 

But every night, Hota dreamed of a man with the night sky in his eyes. 

The dreams started after his mother's death. 

He used to hate them. A small part of him still hated the dreams.

Dreams are entwined with fate. 

Hota wanted no part of fate. 

"I can feel it!" Joseph yelled. "Our fate's out west!"

"Our lives are here," Sarah said. 

"What kind of life is this?" Joseph yelled. He slammed the door. 

Sarah dropped to her knees. 

Steve crept out of his hiding place. "Ma?"

"Oh, darling." Sarah wrapped her arms around him. 

Steve squeezed her tightly. "Why's he like that?"

"I don't know," Sarah whispered. 

Hota knew the path by heart. He'd walked it many times. As he walked, he plucked berries and plants that he would crush for his paints. 

The mountain air soothed his aching soul. 

Hota was about to head back when he heard a strange noise. Investigating, the last thing he expected to find was a terrified boy. 

The boy was covered in dirt and blood. He cowered away from Hota. 

"Easy," Hota murmured. His Omega pheromones would calm the child. 

The boy shivered. "A-Are you going to s-scalp me?"

Hota almost chuckled. "No, I promise no harm will befall you." 

"C-Can you help us?" The boy asked. He had calmed somewhat. 

It was difficult for pups to distrust Omegas. 

"Us?" Steve asked. 

"M-My da is h-hurt," the boy's voice cracked. 

"Lead the way," Steve said. 

The boy stumbled through the mountainside until they reached a horrific sight. 

Hota found himself wanting to shield the child, but the child's father desperately needed him. 

The man's arm had been torn off. 

Hota had never seen so much blood. Kneeling by his side, he checked his pulse. 

A weak pulse thrummed against his finger. 

Hota used his belt to tie a tourniquet around the man's shoulder. 

"Da?" The boy knelt by Hota's side staring at his father. 

"What's your name?" Hota asked, hoping to distract him. 

 "P-Peter." The boy's voice trembled. 

"Peter, do you know how to start a fire?" Hota asked. 

Peter nodded. 

"Good. Get one started," Hota prodded. 

Peter did as he was told. 

"Do you have a pot?" Hota asked. 

"Yeah," Peter replied. 

"There's a stream not far from here. Fill the pot and warm it over the fire," Hota ordered. 

While the boy was hurrying to do what Hota had told him, the man gasped. 

"Easy," Hota whispered. 

"P-Pet--" the man's speech was garbled. 

"He is safe," Hota assured. 

The man's eyes fluttered open revealing eyes as dark as the night sky. 

***

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