I never knew what he was doing. When he was a boy, he would disappear for days into the mountains. I would ask him where he had gone, what he had done. He'd refuse to tell me. I insisted that he tell me. He would not. I forbade him to go. He ignored me. I punished him. He endured it, silently. But always, he returned to the mountains. One might as well ask the river not to run.

But secretly, I admired him, that proud core of him that would not yield.