The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the rolling hills of Stone Ridge. The air was thick with the warmth of late summer, but the promise of fall lingered just beneath the surface, with a cool breeze stirring the leaves. On the outskirts of the village, where the mountain trail met the forest's edge, Daniel Cooper crouched low, eyeing the weathered tin can hanging from a tree branch.
"Betcha can't hit it again," Ruse called from a few paces away, his voice teasing as he slung a slingshot over his shoulder.
Daniel didn't look up. His focus was fixed entirely on the target. He could hear Ruse's confidence, but it didn't matter. There was no doubt in his mind. He had been hitting that can—tossing rocks with near-perfect precision—for as long as he could remember. The skill had become as natural as breathing.
"You're on," Daniel replied, his voice steady. He took a deep breath and measured the angle, feeling the weight of the stone in his hand. It was a good one—smooth, but not too heavy, the perfect balance of size and weight.
Ruse and Clyde watched intently, leaning against the stone wall that bordered the path leading into the woods. Clyde, ever the silent one, barely moved, his eyes following Daniel's every move, while Ruse was bouncing on his heels, eager for the next throw.
Daniel flicked his wrist, and the rock shot forward, sailing through the air with a clean, whistling hum. It curved in an almost unnatural arc, dipping just below a branch before smacking the can with a satisfying clang. The can swung wildly, rattling in its place before finally coming to rest.
Ruse let out a whistle. "I swear, you've got some kinda magic with those rocks."
Daniel stood tall, a modest grin tugging at his lips. "I told you. It's all about the angle."
"Angle, my foot," Ruse grumbled, shaking his head. "You've got a gift, Coop. You oughta do somethin' with it. Like… I dunno… join the circus or somethin'."
Daniel snorted. "Yeah, because I'm real interested in wearing tights and throwing rocks at people for a living."
"Pfft, well, I'd pay to see that," Ruse shot back, nudging Clyde in the ribs. But Clyde only nodded thoughtfully, his expression unreadable as always.
The trio had been friends for as long as Daniel could remember. Ruse, with his loudmouth and constant energy, was the first to suggest any crazy idea that came to mind. Clyde, on the other hand, was quieter, the kind of guy who only spoke when he had something important to say, and when he did, you listened. As for Daniel, he had always been the one who preferred to stay in the background, letting his actions speak louder than words. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a good joke or a laugh—he just preferred the rhythm of things: the feel of a stone in his hand, the wind in his hair, the sense of calm in the chaos of the game.
Ruse picked up a rock of his own and stepped forward, eyes narrowing on the tin can. "Your turn to miss," he grinned, tossing the stone up and down in his hand.
Daniel crossed his arms, leaning against the stone wall, watching as Ruse took his shot. It wasn't nearly as precise as Daniel's throws; the stone veered off course, skimming the top of the can without hitting it. Ruse's face fell in exaggerated disappointment. "Guess I'm just not the rock-throwing prodigy you are."
Daniel laughed, but before he could respond, Clyde raised a hand, signaling them to quiet down. Both boys turned to look at him. Clyde's dark eyes were fixed on something in the distance, his expression suddenly more serious than usual.
"What's up, Clyde?" Daniel asked.
Clyde didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pointed down the path that led to the village, where a small cloud of dust was rising from the road. At first, it seemed like nothing more than a passing truck, but then the roar of an engine sounded out—louder, more frantic. A plane.
"Isn't that a bit low?" Ruse asked, squinting into the distance.
"Yeah," Daniel muttered, his pulse quickening. "That doesn't sound right."
For a moment, they all stood frozen, watching as the plane descended erratically, its engine sputtering. The noise grew louder, closer, until suddenly, it cut off with an ear-piercing silence. A few seconds later, the crash echoed through the valley, followed by the sound of metal scraping against rock.
Daniel's heart leaped into his throat.
"We've gotta go," he said, already turning toward the path. Ruse and Clyde were quick to follow.
The three boys sprinted down the winding trail, their feet pounding the earth, adrenaline surging through their veins. The crash site was just ahead, but even before they reached it, they could see the smoke rising in the distance—a trail of black curling into the sky. Daniel's mind raced. A crash like that, it couldn't have been a coincidence. Someone was in trouble.
The heat of the moment pushed them forward, every instinct telling Daniel to keep moving, to get to the wreckage. He could barely remember a time when something outside of their quiet mountain life had intruded this way.
When they reached the clearing, Daniel skidded to a halt. There, amidst the twisted remains of a small plane, lay a man. His face was bloodied, his body sprawled awkwardly on the ground, but there was something familiar about him—something that tugged at the back of Daniel's mind.
"Is he…?" Ruse began, but his voice trailed off.
Daniel didn't wait for an answer. He rushed forward, checking for signs of life, his fingers pressing lightly against the man's neck. There. A faint pulse.
"He's alive," Daniel said, his voice steady despite the rush of fear that churned in his stomach. "But we need help."
Clyde was already pulling out his phone, but when he glanced at the screen, his face fell. No signal.
"Great," Ruse muttered. "What now?"
Daniel glanced back at the unconscious man and then at his friends. They needed to move quickly. There wasn't time to waste.
"We get him back to the village," Daniel said, determination settling in his chest. "Come on. Let's go."
The three boys worked together, carefully lifting the man and supporting him between them. As they began the long walk back toward town, Daniel couldn't shake the feeling that this stranger—this man—was the beginning of something bigger than any of them could have imagined.
For the first time in his life, the game of stone didn't seem so important anymore. There was something else now—something that was about to change everything.