“She had hair the color of wheat straw. ‘Least, that’s what they’d told us,” the old man said matter of factly as he stare across the flat land. His eyes were hazed with cataracts and we wondered how much he could actually see as he looked about.

“We took out at dusk, just the five of us, Bill, John, Tom, Dusty and me. Had our lanterns,” a sad smile crept over his wrinkled features, “You boys, you have those million watters, we could’ve used those that night.” We’d heard Old Seph tell this story but we loved it and vowed that we’d set out to find the Wheat Girl one day, even though we’d heard the warnings.

As he rocked in his creaky chair, he spun the adventure of the five friends as they wound their way through the wheat field in search of the golden maiden who granted wishes for the sons of farmers as they swore on their lives to always keep the fields sown with wheat for harvest.

Seph stopped rocking abruptly when he reached the part of the story we’d been waiting for.

Dusty’s tale.