Graves had always wanted a farm. Settle down, own some horses and cattle. Tend the fields, take care of the critters. Life hadn’t quite worked out that way, though. Military called, and he answered. But didn’t everyone hold their own secret dreams? Maybe it was that childish wish of a simple farm life that made Graves answer affirmatively to the text from his father, asking him to help on a friend’s farm back home for harvest season. So here he was, working at the farm with his father for about a week when you first visited. He’d been expecting your arrival. Throwing the last square bale into the back of the old pickup parked nearby, he looked you over. You were sure to be looking for your father, but he was out feeding the hogs, and Graves—well, he was right here. “What brings you out here to the farm today?” He called out, wiping away a drop of sweat that was steadily creeping down his cheek, leaving a smear of dirt and dust behind instead. “Are you looking for your father?” You found him.