The property was over an oil field but my father wouldn't give it up. When he passed, we had the responsibility of dividing it. Dickenson Ranch became another set of coordinates on a landman's county record listing. The rest of the kids and I didn't know how we'd pass the land off.
We decided to have one last adventure in those hills before the pumps and derricks sprouted across it. Sarah and Connor showed up, but our delinquent sister Martha never did. She was busy in Los Angeles doing god-knows-what and wasn't allowed across state lines.
We revisited King Mountain, the largest hill. I even found our scepter. SSCM was burned into the branch near the knot at the top. Connor and I put together a new throne of stones- what we used to call boulders. They'd been immovable. Sarah gathered the white flowers along the King's slopes for a crown.
We sat for a time, Connor and I with our spears and Sarah with her crown, talking about the old days. Martha wasn't here to be the Red Queen, so Connor became a defacto knight of the White Queen's realm. No sense in playing sides anymore. We were all on one, even Martha.
We scratched out initials into the throne and almost even took a picture, but decided against it.
Now pipes vein the hills. Maybe someday they'll serve as gates and bridges for future realms in those hills.
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