The drive down the winding mountain roads was silent. The morning mist still clung to the trees as James navigated the old pickup truck, its engine grumbling as it made its way through the rough terrain. Daniel sat in the passenger seat, his mind racing, his stomach tied in knots.
Leaving the cabin, the mountains, and everything familiar behind felt surreal. The scent of pine trees and fresh air was quickly replaced by the exhaust of the truck and the faint smell of oil and gas. The road stretched ahead, leading to a world Daniel couldn't even fully picture. He had never been far from Stone Ridge, and now, the thought of leaving it all behind—his friends, his home, the only life he had ever known—felt like stepping into an unknown world.
James glanced over at Daniel, his eyes focused on the road. "You sure about this?" he asked, his voice steady, but with an undercurrent of concern.
Daniel nodded, though doubt lingered behind his eyes. "I'm not sure of anything," he said honestly, his voice tight. "But I'm doing it. I have to see if I can really do this."
James gave a small, encouraging smile. "That's the spirit. The road ahead's gonna be tough, but you've got the tools. Now it's up to you to put them to work."
As they drove further away from the mountains and into the small towns that dotted the valley below, Daniel couldn't help but feel a rising sense of anxiety. What if he couldn't do it? What if he wasn't good enough? He had thrown rocks for years—hell, he'd been the best at it in Stone Ridge—but baseball was a whole different game. The pressure, the rules, the expectations—Daniel wasn't sure he was ready for any of it.
They arrived at the outskirts of a much larger town by midday. Daniel could see the glint of the high school's baseball field in the distance, its diamond neatly manicured and waiting. For a moment, the sight made his breath catch in his throat. This was it. This was where it would start—or where it could all fall apart.
James parked the truck in the lot outside the field. It was quiet, the stands empty. The air felt different here—more intense, more serious. Daniel could hear the distant sound of a bat meeting a ball in the practice field beyond the fence. It was real now. This wasn't a game anymore.
Daniel stepped out of the truck, the ground under his feet suddenly feeling unsteady. He adjusted the worn baseball cap James had given him, pulling it low to shield his eyes from the glare. His heart beat faster now, the hum of nervous energy filling the pit of his stomach.
James walked around the truck and clapped him on the shoulder. "You ready, kid?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying that same steady confidence.
"I don't know," Daniel admitted, looking over at the field. "I've never even held a bat."
James raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Instead, he led Daniel toward the field. The grass felt soft under their feet, the scent of the freshly cut turf filling the air. A few players were running drills at the far end, their shoes crunching against the dirt as they practiced pitching and fielding.
When they reached the dugout, James stopped and turned to Daniel. "I'm not expecting you to jump into a game today, or even tomorrow. But I want you to watch. Watch how they move. Watch how they throw. And then, when you're ready, I want you to step up to that mound."
Daniel hesitated. "The mound?"
James nodded. "That's where it all begins. A pitcher controls the game. He starts it. He finishes it. You've already got the arm for it. Now you need to learn the game."
Daniel looked at the dirt mound ahead of him. The idea of standing there, throwing a baseball at a catcher in front of all these people, felt like a dream he wasn't sure he could reach.
"Let's just start slow," Daniel said quietly. "I can throw rocks. But this... this is a whole different thing."
James nodded. "One thing at a time. First, you need to see what it takes to throw a baseball with control. You don't have to be perfect right away, but I want to see how you handle it."
Daniel nodded, taking a deep breath as he walked with James toward the pitching area. The sounds of players practicing—baseballs cracking against wood, gloves popping—were all around them. His heart was pounding, but as they reached the mound, something inside him told him this was where he needed to be.
But before any of that happened, there was one thing Daniel had to do first. A final moment of peace, before he stepped into the unknown.
_______
The last hunt with Ruse and Clyde felt different than any before. It wasn't just the routine of the woods that made the day feel heavier—it was the weight of the unspoken words that hung between them as they trekked through the pines.
The sun was still low in the sky, the morning mist not quite burned away by the early light. Daniel, Ruse, and Clyde moved in sync, quiet as ghosts, as they climbed over rocks and under branches, their boots crunching on the thick layer of fallen needles. The cool air had a bite to it, but the promise of the hunt was enough to keep them focused.
As they reached their usual spot by the creek, Ruse turned to Daniel, his expression unreadable. "You sure about this, man?" he asked, the question not just about the hunt, but about everything that was happening.
Daniel took a deep breath, gripping the stone in his pocket. The one he had carried with him since he was a child. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended. "But I have to go."
Clyde, walking a few paces ahead, turned back to join them. "Don't know what you're talking about. What's there to know?" His tone was always the same—sharp, sarcastic. But even he couldn't hide the sadness in his eyes.
Daniel smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll miss this," he said simply. The woods, the hunts, the quiet days with his friends—it had all been a part of him. A part he wasn't sure he was ready to leave behind.
The three of them moved deeper into the forest, the scent of pine and damp earth filling their noses. Daniel could hear the faint rustling of animals in the brush and the distant trill of birds overhead. The world was quiet except for the soft shuffle of their feet and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot.
When they reached the clearing, Daniel knelt down, his eyes scanning the ground for signs of movement. He was trying to focus, trying to do what he had always done. His skills—honed over years of practice, throwing stones with incredible precision—had made him a good hunter. Today, though, it felt different. The air felt heavier.
"Look sharp," Ruse murmured.
Daniel nodded, standing up slowly. The quiet was unnerving. He missed the familiar hum of excitement, the rush of the hunt. Instead, his thoughts kept drifting back to the truck, to James, to the future waiting for him.
Clyde had his rifle ready, his stance precise. But Ruse was watching Daniel carefully, his eyes full of unspoken words.
"Do you think this will be it?" Ruse asked softly, glancing over at the distant mountains. "You're just gonna leave all this behind? The hunt, the cabin, us?"
Daniel looked out over the mountains, the place he had always called home. His fingers tightened around the stone in his pocket, a reminder of the life he was leaving behind.
"I have to," Daniel said quietly, almost to himself. "There's something else out there for me. I don't know if I'll be good at it, but... I have to try."
The silence lingered for a moment before Clyde spoke. "You're a damn fool," he said gruffly. But there was no real bite behind it. Just a quiet sadness.
Daniel didn't say anything in return. Instead, he focused on his next throw. The weight of the stone felt familiar in his hand, its smooth surface a reminder of everything he was leaving behind. He threw it, watching as it soared through the air, curving with ease just like it always had.
It landed perfectly, just like every time. But this time, Daniel didn't feel the satisfaction he usually did. Instead, he felt something else—a shift. It was time to move on.
______
Back at the truck, after their final hunt, Daniel turned to his friends one last time. The weight of his departure hung between them.
"Take care of yourselves," he said quietly, his voice thick.
Ruse clapped him on the back, a rare smile playing on his lips. "Don't screw this up, you hear?"
Clyde, as usual, grunted but nodded. "Yeah. Don't forget where you came from."
With that, Daniel climbed into the truck, the engine roaring to life. As they pulled away, he glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the familiar shapes of the forest fade into the distance. It was a feeling he wasn't sure he would ever get used to.
But as the truck drove further from the mountains, farther from the home he had known, a new chapter awaited—a chapter he was ready to write.