Even as the years passed, even as they spent their time further and further divided (the mountains seemed ever vast, always with some new alcove to search or trail to follow; the house always needed to be cleaned of dust and muddied footsteps left when it was too dark to see, and people in Tazmily needed aid and errands run no matter the village’s size; the sheep and Boney still burst with life despite how many times the stable or the house had to be rebuilt), Lucas and what was left of his family still ate together once every year, and set two plates aside.