Heart Rock

Chapter 1

One of the very first questions Ian asked himself the first night he was out there alone in the woods, in the dark, cold, afraid, and weak with hunger, was why had he even come on this journey? He asked the question because he honestly didn't even have an answer, and he thought that perhaps he should have had an answer before he even began, but he didn't.

"The ascent to Heart Rock is no easy road," his grandmother had told him. "Many young men and women have died on their way up there, never to be seen again."

"Died?" he had asked her.

"Yes, and they were never seen or heard from again. My cousin went up there, when I was about ten years old or so, and I never saw him again."

Ian swallowed hard, and his grandmother nodded affirmatively at him, taking a sip from her cup of tea.

"Sometimes never seeing someone again is a good thing though," she added.

He prompted her to clarify the remark with a cock of his eyebrows, but she simply got up and shuffled over to spill some seed into her bird's feeding dish. He gathered that perhaps her cousin was simply not a very nice guy, perhaps someone the world was better off without.

"Has anyone ever come down alive from there?" Ian asked.

"Of course, silly. If they hadn't there would be no one to tell the tale."

"Did they get their wish?"

"Of course," she said. "Everyone who ever came down from there found the one person they truly loved waiting for them with open arms."

"It sounds like a lot of hocus pocus baloney to me," Ian said.

"It is a lot of hocus pocus and baloney, looking at it from down here. So will everything be until you find the courage to seek out the truth for yourself."

"I don't believe in any of that stuff, grandmother. You know me."

"The question is, is your unbelief based on facts, or on fear that maybe there's more to life than you currently understand?"

"Why would I be afraid of something I don't understand?"

"Because you feel safest believing you already know everything there is to know."

"I do know everything there is to know. It's not a question of belief. I see things with my eyes, hear things with my ears, and feel things with my body - this is everything there is to know. Nothing else matters."

"You only feel that way because deep down inside you're afraid there might be something bigger than you. Isn't that right?"

"Bigger like what? The worst thing that can happen is death, and that's something that's easy to understand, so what's to be afraid of?"

Grandmother shook her head. "You should go up to Heart Rock, Ian. Then you'll realize that there are so many things you don't understand, and you'll find that that's perfectly okay."

That conversation with his grandmother had taken place two years ago. He thought about it a lot since then, but he had never completely grasped what she had been trying to tell him. She died a few months later, leaving him only the memory of their talk about Heart Rock, and her little yellow-grey canary Twitsie.

It was about a year after that that Twitsie had escaped from his cage and flown out his bedroom window never to be seen again. The last Ian saw of him he had been flying east, toward Heart Rock.

That was when he first began seriously considering journeying up to heart rock. Watching the pretty little bird fly away had troubled him deeply - particularly because he had been feeling guilty about neglecting the poor thing for quiet a while, leaving it for days without fresh food or water. It's a wonder the poor thing had even survived as long as it had. He was a busy guy though, with school and friends and such. Perhaps too busy to have another creature placed in his care.

Watching the little thing fly away though really shook him up. Mostly he began to wonder if the things he thought were so important really were as important as he thought they were. Then he began to miss his grandmother.

A few weeks later, on the third day of his summer vacation, at the age of fifteen, he set out for Heart Rock.

The trouble was, he didn't really have any particular girl in mind to name when he set his feet upon heart rock, and now, in the middle of his first night alone in the woods, he began to wonder if he should even bother going on.

He was stubborn and proud though. That's what had started him on this journey in the first place, and that's what had kept him going all day, through the thicket, and bugs, and twisted ankles, and skinned knees, and salty sweat pouring into his eyes as he stumbled on through the woods toward the base of Mount Sol. He wanted to get there just to prove that he could. It wasn't even about the romance. To him, having a girl fall in love with him would be more of a burden than anything. Girls were so needy, and he could barely even take care of a bird, never mind another human being.

As he curled up in the hollow of a big dark tree late that night, in the pitch black of the woods, he decided that he had probably really come out here because his grandmother had said he should - to understand what else there was to this universe beyond what he could see, hear, and feel. He owed her at least that much, having lost her little bird.

He had come a good twenty miles or so that first day. From the back fence of Emmery Park, to the base of the mountain was twenty-five miles according to the map he had checked. He had crossed the stream his grandmother had told him would be there about five minutes into the journey, and he had found the Love Stone about ten minutes later. When journeying to Heart Rock it was said that you were supposed to lay your hands on the Love Stone, stating your name, and announcing your intention to journey to Heart Rock. Then you began by simply heading east.

Ian felt really stupid doing this of course, and he actually looked around for a couple of minutes to be sure that no one was around. Then he slowly walked up and looked at the Love Stone for a long time. It was tall, almost an elongated egg-shaped thing, with a reddish-grey tint to it. Somewhere near the top there were a couple of bulges that almost looked like breasts pointed up at the sky. These were what his grandmother had told him to look for.

He sat down next to it and ate his last meal. When journeying to Heart Rock it was said that you must take not food or water with you, and you can not eat or drink until your journey is complete. This is probably what killed half the people who attempted this trek, Ian thought, but he decided to honor the rules, as silly as they seemed. If he was going to prove that he could really do this, he would really do it, without shortcuts or cheating.

He sat for a long time though after he was done eating, feeling so stupid about making the announcement at the Love Stone. Even though no one was around to see or hear him, he was still embarrassed to be talking to someone who wasn't even there. In the end he decided he had to simply swallow his pride and make the announcement, whether it had meaning for him or not.

"I guess if I'm gonna do this I might as well do it right," he said to himself. Then he boldly walked right up and laid his hand on the side of the Love Stone. "My name is Ian Carrey, and I'm going to journey up to Heart Rock."

That was all. There was no lightning or thunder, or harps playing in the background. Everything was silent except for the twitter of birds and the distant sound of the babbling stream. His voice sounded strange to him in the quiet of the woods. He had never really listened to himself speaking before, possibly because he had never spoken when there was no one else around to hear him.

"So that's what I sound like," he said. Then he left his pack with the litter from his lunch wrapped up inside it beside the Love Stone, and he had set off to the east.

There was no trail up to Mount Sol - no beaten path, and no roads. There was only the moss on the trees to remind him which way was south, and more importantly, which way was east. He wanted to climb a tree, to scan the horizon for the Mt. Sol, to be sure he was going in the right direction, but there were no suitable climbing trees, and even if there were, he figured it would take far too much time and energy climbing up and down a tree. In any case, he figured he probably wasn't supposed to know which way was the right way. This was the purpose of the "no compass" rule.

"You mustn't bring a compass or any sort of map with you when you go," his grandmother said. "You won't need them. The trail itself will guide you. You must travel blindly, following your instincts, your heart, whatever you need to follow to get there."

"That seems kind of foolish to me," Ian said. "No wonder not too many people make it."

"It is foolish, my child. But so are all things that require courage."

So he hadn't brought a compass or maps. He was simply trudging blindly eastward, hoping he arrived at the slope of Mt. Sol by nightfall.

He didn't though. The hunger hit him late in the afternoon, and by early evening his legs felt like jelly. He found he actually had to will them to keep walking after a while. It wasn't automatic anymore, and the going was very slow. Finally, as the sun was setting in the woods behind him, he found the hollowed out trunk of a great big tree and decided he would rest there. He rested a little longer than he had planned though, and soon he found himself in twilight, unable to continue without getting lost in the dark. So he decided he would simply stay inside the hollow tree trunk for the night.

He had brought a sleeping bag. His grandmother had said nothing about that. He was thankful for it too, when the cold night air hit him. He got himself completely inside it with only an opening for his face to peek out of.

There were more rules of the journey he was supposed to remember. He thought about this some more as he eased into relaxation, feeling his exhausted body sinking into the numbness of rest.

"The first thing you do when you wake up each morning, before you continue on the journey, is to make two statements about yourself. First, you must state the main reason why the person your heart desires should not, would not, or could not truly love you. You must be completely honest or the journey will be all for nothing in the end."

"What's the second thing?"

"You must state an honest reason why the person your heart desires should, would, and could truly love you with all her heart."

It didn't make sense to him then, and it didn't make much more sense to him now that he was out here. He had been thinking about it pretty much the entire evening too, hypnotized by the monotony of the journey. He didn't even have any particular person that his heart desired, so how could he know why she wouldn't love him? Different girls would say different things. Some might say he's a self-centered jerk perhaps, but other might say he's too pushy, or a bit of a know-it-all. Others, like his mother for example, might say he is just way too stubborn and proud to ever be loved, though she seemed to love him with all her heart.

In the end he couldn't think of any one reason why anyone wouldn't love him. He began to realize that there were a lot more reasons than he'd ever realized before, and it became a question of which one was the main reason.

The same was true with the opposing question too. He could think of a lot of reasons why someone might fall in love with him. He was good-looking, healthy, strong, out-going, popular - all the things girls generally looked for in a boyfriend. But then it occurred to him that these weren't really grounds for true love. He would have to look deeper. All he could think of at that point was that his mom and grandmother loved him with all their hearts, so there must be something lovable in him.

Then he leaned his head against the inside of the tree and fell fast asleep, sitting up with his knees hugged tightly to his chest.



Chapter 2

Nights are not very long in summertime. The sun set around 10:30 p.m. or so, and rose around 5 in the morning. This gave Ian a good six and a half hours of sleep. He woke up several times in the night however, feeling hungry, thirsty, and nauseas. He was feeling fairly lonely and afraid too, and this wasn't improving his situation. Most of all he wanted to be back at home in his nice warm bed, and to hell with this stupid journey. There were other challenges he could conquer in his lifetime. Why was he torturing himself, and possibly risking his life with this? Who was he doing it for?

Images of the different girls he knew floated through his mind. There were a lot of very beautiful young women in his school, any one of which he thought he could easily have as a girlfriend if it ever occurred to him to try.

There was Beth, and Jane, and Mary-Ellen - all three of them perhaps the most beautiful in town, never mind the school. They were a little too full of themselves though - far too interested in their popularity than any relationship they found themselves in from week to week.

There was Courtney, another pretty one who he'd often admired from afar, but she too was a little too snooty for his liking. She seemed like she thought she was too good for anyone else in the school.

Sabrina was cute too, but her beauty was more in her personality. She was friendly and fun and out-going, but somewhat plain-looking. She always had a few minutes to chat with him whenever he said hello to her around the school. That was nice and everything, but there had to be more to any girl he would consider his true love.

Names and faces floated through his sleep-dazed mind, and he even considered a few of his teachers. Eventually he simply fell asleep again, feeling more lonely than he ever had before, realizing that there was really nobody he could truly fall in love with in this town.

The sun rose in the morning, lighting the sky and stirring the birds into their morning songs. The forest was alive with the music of them, and Ian thought he was dreaming for a moment before he opened his eyes.

He unzipped his sleeping bag and struggled out of it. His body was aching and he felt more weak than he ever had in his life. His only thought was that if he were at home he would be enjoying a nice hearty breakfast at his mother's table right now. Why the hell was he not allowed to bring food out here, anyway?

"You must be empty, before you can be truly filled," his grandmother had told him. "You must be bare, and broken, and helpless, before the journey can be complete."

"Have you ever gone on the journey to Heart Rock, grandmother?" he asked her.

"I'm just telling you it the way I heard it," she replied. "Don't bring any food with you. You won't need it. You must travel empty and blind. Empty and blind."

Now that he was out here, laying on the cool wet earth, feeling famished with hunger, weak and all alone, he began to wonder even harder if this was all worth it in the end? He laid there for a long time, trying to decide whether he even wanted to continue this damn journey. If he went on any further he might not have the strength to get back. As it was he already figured it would take him two days to travel back the distance he had come the day before. How would he ever survive if he traveled a whole other day as well?

He was proud and stubborn though, and when he began to think about the idea of giving up, it left a sour taste in his mouth - more bitter than the hunger and weakness he felt burning in his body. He was in the best shape he probably ever would be, if he couldn't make it now, he probably never would, and that's not something he could live with. He's never failed at anything he honestly put his mind to.

So he rolled up his sleeping bag and slung his arms through the draw strings once again, as he had the day before. He got up off of his knees and looked around to be sure he knew which way was east. Then he took one step forward before stopping in his tracks.

"Oh yeah," he said. "I've got to talk about why no one will ever truly love me."

He couldn't think of anything though, and he stood there for a very long time. His mind was as tired as his body was, and even thinking was an effort of pure will power.

Then he heard the birds singing and thought of Twitsie. He recalled the moment back at home in his bedroom where he leaned out the window with both hands upon the sill, watching the little thing fly away into the wide open world. He recalled how terrible he'd felt all that day, and how he had missed his grandmother so much.

"I guess," he began, "no one will ever truly love me, because I was too busy to even take care of that little bird. I should have taken better care of it. My grandmother left it especially for me to care for when she died, but I got so busy with all my stupid stuff I didn't even take care of it. I guess it took off because it didn't feel loved by me. Maybe it went looking for grandmother. She deserves to be truly loved. She took care of him."

Then he tried to think about why he really did deserve to be loved but he couldn't think of anything. He just stood there for the longest time until he finally started crying. He was tired, sore, hungry, and lonely, missing his grandmother, and that stupid little bird.

"I'm sorry. I can't think of any reason why I should be truly loved. I'm just gonna go on anyway though, because I'm too afraid to go home now. If I don't find someone who truly loves me I may never know what it's like. I don't really want to go on. I don't even have a person my heart desires. I'm tired and sad and scared, but I can't go back either. I don't know what else to do, so I'll just keep going. I know there must be a reason why I should be truly loved. I just can't think of it right now."

So he started walking again, all by himself, with tears flowing down his cheeks and the birds filling the morning air with their songs.

The thirst hit him hard that second day. It was so bad after a while he began to feel like sucking on chunks of moss, hoping to get a little bit of moisture out of them. He kept walking though, on shaking legs, and he began to feel lighter in the head than he ever had. The lower half of him felt heavier than ever, but the top of him felt light and clear and wide awake. It was actually a nice feeling, almost euphoric.

It started to rain in the afternoon and he felt exhilarated by it. He was hot and sweating and weary, and the rain hit him from above showering him with what felt like new energy. He stood there for a while with his mouth wide open aimed up at the sky, catching rain drops in his mouth. He wasn't allowed to bring any water with him, but that didn't mean he couldn't drink what he found along the way, did it?

He decided it didn't, and a few minutes later he was drinking rain water he had scooped out of a hollow tree stump with his two trembling hands. It was the best water he had ever tasted his entire life.

There was no food around though, and as the day wore on his hunger got worse and worse. He eventually found himself considering eating leaves off of trees, or moss off of the rocks under his feet, but he resisted these urges, opting instead to simply keep plowing on through the woods. Still heading east with a cool northern breeze chilling the rain that was now drying on his skin.

His sleeping bag was soaked right through however, and it weighed a ton. He unrolled it after the rain stopped and carried it like a cape stretched down his back, all the way to the ground. He hoped it would dry out before nightfall, and was actually considering simply abandoning it if it didn't. It was making him hot and tired and it was more of a nuisance than anything else. Come nightfall however he knew he would be wishing for the comfort and security of even a wet sleeping bag. So he hung onto it, seemingly with all his strength, and carried it on to wherever he would sleep that night.

The slope of the ground grew steeper as the day went on, and he began to wonder if he would ever reach the foot of the mountain. He pictured himself stepping out of a clearing and seeing it tall and majestic before him, rising from the earth like a monument to nature. He never found such a clearing however, and he never really saw the base of the mountain as he had pictured it in his mind. He just kept walking all day long until he realized he was already climbing Mt. Sol when the trees got sparser and the rocks showed through the forest floor more and more.

Finally he reached a bit of a clearing and was able to turn around and see the tops of the trees he had come through in the forest behind him. He looked further on up ahead and saw that he was about a quarter of the way up Mt. Sol already, and he hadn't even noticed. He was burned out though - more exhausted and weak than he'd ever felt before, so exhausted in fact that the exhaustion he'd felt earlier seemed petty in retrospect. Would it get even worse than this?

He was almost staggering now, under the weight of his now nearly dry sleeping bag, and it was only early evening. He could see the sun heading down to its bed below the western horizon. They sky was still partly cloudy, and it would make for a fairly picturesque sunset. He sat down to watch the world below for a while and found he could not get back up again. His legs simply wouldn't work. It was time to find some sort of shelter. It was time to go to set up some sort of camp and try to dry the last of the dampness out of his sleeping bag before he finally fell asleep. There was still a lot of daylight left but he couldn't hike any more even if he wanted to.

A few more minutes up the mountainside he found a small cliff face with a tree growing out of its base and an almost cave-like cleft in the rock about eight feet up. This would have to do, he thought. He managed with great effort to shimmy up the cliff face with his arms and legs between the rock and the tree, clutching the sleeping bag in his teeth as he climbed. He finally got up there and found it cool and clean, and more importantly dry. It was about four feet deep, offering only a bit of shelter from the wind and whatever rain might come in the night, but he felt secure in there. He felt good about being high up too, where no critters could get at him while he slept.

He hung his sleeping bag from a branch of the tree, unfurled like a sail in the wind, and simply sat there feeling the aches and pains of the journey, the burning of his hunger, but not really thinking about anything at all. A good hour passed while he dozed in and out of consciousness, and finally he pulled his sleeping bag down from the tree. It was as dry as it was going to get.

He zippered it up and climbed inside it, pulling it up over his body as though he were a foot going into a nice thick sock. It smelled kind of funny in there, but he was warm at least. He poked his face out of the opening once again and watched the sunset in the distance. It was brilliant.

He began to think about who he might like to share such an experience with, if anyone. That was what people in love did right? They watched sunsets together, and such. Then they made love under the stars. He still couldn't think of any one particular girl he'd have like to have been there with him. It was an especially lonely feeling that way, seeing something so beautiful and not having someone to say "isn't that the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" to. He felt very empty inside, in spite of the beauty of the scene before him.

"Who's my special someone?" he asked aloud. "Who should be here to see this with me?"

There was a painting at school one time, outside the art class. It was a painting of a sunset just like this one. He remembered it all of the sudden. The artist had sprinkled sparkles on it that caught his eye as he walked by. He stood there staring at it until Sabrina walked up behind him.

"You like it?" she asked.

"Yeah. The sparkles are cool," he replied.

"You can have it if you want," Sabrina told him,

"It's yours?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"It's nice. It's the best one," Ian said, glancing up and down the wall at all the other pictures.

"You want it?" she asked again. "You can have it. It's yours."

"Nah," he said. "That's alright. It's nice and everything, but you keep it. It's not really my kind of thing."

Then he just walked away. He didn't even say goodbye to her.

"I should have taken it. It would have made her feel good," he said. "Why didn't I just take the damn thing? Why am I such a self-centered ass?"

He felt bad about it for a moment, but then after another moment it occurred to him that he might actually like to have Sabrina sitting there with him. She would appreciate a sunset like this, and he could tell her to her face that he was sorry he didn't take the picture when she offered it. He would apologize for being an inconsiderate jerk.

Having Sabrina there with him would make him feel so much better actually, now that he thought about it. In fact, he began to realize that the reason she had offered such a special painting to him, one she had worked so hard on, which she was obviously proud of, was because she actually liked him. She must have some sort of feelings for him that he had never realized before.

"Sabrina Marshal cares about me," he told himself.

Sabrina was a strong girl - probably stronger than she was beautiful in worldly terms. She had strength of character that he admired the more he thought about it. Though she was not the most popular or attractive girl in school, she was well-liked by those who knew her, and had many devoted friends. Besides she wasn't even all that bad looking anyway. Ian had simply never noticed her because she wasn't what was normally considered a knock-out by the general standards of the school. But what difference did that make, if she had a beautiful personality? At least beautiful enough to add sparkles to her sunset and offer it to him the way she had, beautiful enough to create a memory for him that he could take with him into the loneliest hour of his life.

He smiled broadly, peeking out from his sleeping bag, and hugged his knees to his chest once again. He began to feel better about actually having someone to feel good about, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Perhaps he would name Sabrina tomorrow, when he got to Heart Rock.



Chapter 3

Ian woke up the next morning in agony. His legs were cramped and his back and neck were aching like he'd been beaten all night with heavy sticks. He had a headache and was dizzy as well. To make matters even worse, he found himself tangled up in his sleeping bag, unable to even wiggle out of it in the cramped space of the little cave he'd slept in. He was stuck.

He whimpered and struggled weakly. The sleeping bag was caught on something. It must have been, either that or he was simply too weak to pull it out from under himself. He wasn't sure which was the problem. He twisted and turned as much as he could but he couldn't get out.

Finally, after about twenty minutes of squirming, he managed to wriggle one arm free and grab a hold of the rock at the mouth of the cave. He pulled himself forward and found that he was finally able to move a bit. It was agony though. His legs felt dead - literally, and they would barely budge even when he kicked with all his strength. There was only a sharp shooting stabbing pain that ripped like fire through his thighs and calves with each move he made.

So he pulled himself forward, out of the alcove or rock until he found himself almost folded in half, with his dead and useless legs beneath him, and his neck twisted sideways, trying to wriggle his way out of the rock.

When he finally freed himself however, he fell from the mouth of the cave. It was a long drop too. He got himself squirmed out of the the opening but suddenly found nothing to hang onto, and simply slipped out of the hole in the rock and down, eight feet, to the ground.

He hit with a solid thump that jolted through his entire being. He was still inside the sleeping bag however, and that was perhaps what prevented a serious or perhaps fatal injury. He landed on the rock beside the tree and just lay there for the longest time, moaning and whimpering in agony. He found himself laying there with his legs folded up behind him, bent at the knee, stuck in the bottom of the sleeping bag. He couldn't move. He could barely even breathe. He began to wonder if this was where he would die, like so many others had who had come on this journey.

He could still move one arm though, and that's perhaps what saved him. After a good twenty minutes of laying there in cramped and suffocating agony, he managed to reach up with one arm and unzip the sleeping bag. He felt a waft of fresh air on his face and gulped it in like a drowning man.

He wriggled a little more and got his other arm out from underneath him. It was broken however, being the only thing that had prevented his head from hitting the rock directly, and every little move he made with it burned like fire. It throbbed in agony once the blood began flowing through it again and Ian whimpered even louder, like a badly beaten dog. He managed to squirm his way out of the sleeping bag in spite of all this and he stretched out on the rock with his arm fractured above the elbow, waiting to die where he lay. He didn't die though, and that felt even worse.

He was finally able to move his legs though, and he actually managed to sit up and rest his back against the cliff face. He sat there for a long time, looking down at the forest below, wondering how he would ever get home now.

Eventually he decided that he couldn't get home, not like this, and he began crying brokenly, feeling hopelessly lost and alone, hungry, thirsty, and in agonizing pain in almost every part of his body.

"I'll never make it home. I'm gonna die of thirst up here. Why the hell did I even bother?"

His sobs filled the air, in front of him, but were swept away by the wind before they got very far away.

"What am I gonna do now?" he asked.

All he could do, he decided after a while, was continue to Heart Rock, and perhaps die up there. He couldn't make it home, but he could at least finish the journey he started out on. At least he could die up there, having completed the mission he'd begun.

But first he had to make his morning announcements.

"I'm not worth loving, because I turned down the picture Sabrina offered me. I turned her down really, as it was a gift from her heart. I see that now, and I'm sorry. I was self-centered and stupid. I could have made her the happiest girl in the world, at least for one day, but I didn't, and that's why I don't deserve love."

"I do deserve to be loved though, because I do want to make her the happiest girl in the world. I see my mistake now and I can change it. I see that a girl like her is so easy to make happy, and so worth the effort. If I could only have the chance I would take care of her everyday of her life, forever. I don't think it will happen now. I don't think I'll make it home from here, but I don't care. Just the thought of making a girl that special happy is the most joy I'll ever know."

He left his sleeping bag where it lay at the bottom of the tree and started up the slope once again. It took him several hours to even make a mild amount of progress. Every time he stumbled and fell it sent searing pain through his entire body that radiated out from the break in his arm. He screamed out loud each time, and sat there crying for a moment, but always found the will to get up and keep going.

Finally sometime late in the afternoon he saw it - a deep reddish outcropping of rock that stuck out like a tongue from the side of the mountain. It was a good thing he saw it, because the way was now so steep he could no longer even climb it anymore, not without the use of both arms. He pulled himself over to it, stepping sideways along a ledge where the mountain suddenly dropped off into a cliff beneath him. He made his way out there, fearing the slightest little slip from which there would be no catching himself. He got out there and fell onto the heart-shaped slab of rock that jutted out into the air with an almost vertical drop on each side. He had finally made it.

He just lay there with his eyes shut tight however, unable to even enjoy the view he the height afforded. He had gone three days of vigorous hiking without food, proper rest, and only a few mouthfuls of water. He had even broken his arm in the process. He could not go on anymore. He got up there, simply so that he could die knowing he achieved his final goal, and he waited for death to take him. He was completely empty, blind with fatigue and pain, and he was ready for the end of all he was and ever had been.

"When you get up there," his grandmother had said, "when you're empty and blind, and feeling half dead, like you can't possibly go on anymore, you whisper the name of the one your heart desires and your journey is finished."

"Sabrina Marshal," Ian whispered. "My heart desires Sabrina Marshall."

Then he died.

He felt the last of his own energy flowing out of him and something new coming in to replace it, something strong and alive that made him feel full and complete, something he had never felt before, but somehow recognized. He recognized it because it filled him completely and he couldn't not recognize it.

It was Sabrina. He could feel her life flowing into him, overflowing until there was nothing of his own left inside him. He had never felt anything so wonderful in all his life. He felt the beauty of everything that she was. He felt her strengths, and her hopes, and her love, and her passion. He was so full of her that he felt like he understood her completely.

Then he sat up. His arm was still broken but it was numb now. He could barely feel it. It was swollen dead and useless, but it wasn't throbbing and aching anymore. All he could feel was her. He stood up and stretched his legs with the new energy of his love. He looked out across the landscape and suddenly laughed out loud.

"I love Sabrina Marshal!" he yelled. It echoed back to him and he laughed again. He almost wanted to jump up and down he felt so full of her energy. He resisted the urge though, and instead turned to begin the journey home.

The journey home went by quickly, as journeys home usually do. He got all the way down the mountain and a fair way into the forest, stumbling along with a new spring in his step a different kind of heat in his belly. His sleeping bag wagged back and forth behind him like a great tail, and it kept getting snagged on rocks and sticks but it didn't slow him down much. He fell asleep in the woods once again, under a thicket, up to his eyes in the sleeping bag once again. His last thoughts were of Sabrina, and his first thoughts when he woke up were of her as well.

The going the day after that was slow again, new energy or no new energy, he was dizzy, aching, weak, and stumbled along most of the day feeling rather euphoric. Every once in a while he had to stop and lean against a tree because he suddenly star stars zipping around behind his eyes, and the throbbing in his arm would fade away to numbness all of the sudden. It was nice when these moments happened, but it wasn't getting him any closer to home.

Hours passed by, but they seemed to go much quicker. Perhaps it was the numbness of his mind that made it seem that way, but the entire day seemed to be passing all at once. Every time he stopped to wonder how much time had passed, he found he had no idea either way and simply shrugged the notion off, taking a few more steps on his journey home. It was all about steps now, not miles or hours. He just kept taking more steps, knowing he would get there eventually. He was no longer so intent on making sure he was going in the right direction - he was simply going home.

He began to recognize the country he had passed a few days earlier, and after a while he managed to get himself back onto the same path he had followed coming out here. He could still see the broken branches and bent grasses he had trampled down on his way out, though the forest had managed to heal itself a bit from his intrusion.

Somewhere near the end of that day he got himself back to the Love Stone. He was stumbling and staggering, and stopping to rest almost constantly by that time, and he was elated to finally see the thing off in the distance. Sabrina was standing next to it, looking as confused and tired as he was, but also overjoyed to see him staggering out of the woods to meet her. She rushed up to him and gave him the biggest hug he'd ever experienced.

"Are you alright?" she said.

He nodded, unable to tear his dizzied gaze away from her eyes. He saw her for the first time and knew that he really did love everything about her.

"You're looking at me funny," she said, turning her face a bit, but not her eyes.

Ian reached out and touched her cheek. She touched his hand on her cheek and seemed to calm a bit.

"I had a dream about you yesterday," she said, "about you dying on a red rock on the side of a mountain and I've been worried sick ever since."

Somehow he knew she'd say that, and he smiled at her.

"Everyone in town is looking for you. You're like a celebrity all of the sudden."

"I just went for a walk," Ian said.

"You look half dead. Oh my God! Your arm! What happened? Are you alright?"

"I've never been better," he said. "Can you help me to the hospital?"

She nodded, took his sleeping bag, and put his good arm around her shoulder. He leaned his weight on her and found her strong and comforting.

He made his way over to the stone, laid his hand upon it and whispered that his journey was complete.