In his apartment after work Allen Harvey sat watching his ramen steam. The television set crackled before him. From the window he saw the city of Palestar glistering. A wall of twinkling yellow skyscrapers burning against the night ocean. A stack of envelopes sat on the endtable. He had loosened his tie, and sighed, opening and reading through bill after bill while he awaited the cooling noodles. How am I going to afford this long term?

  Since his parents had died when he became an adult, a few years back, he’d lived on what money he’d inherited. But that could only last so long in the metropolis of Palestar. He had still gotten a good job at a thriving company, ArgentCorp, but it was expensive in the city. It made Allen feel like a sardine in a tube sometimes. Rent, insurance, electricity, water, trash, magic service, you name it he had bills for it. Purposeless, like a floating log.

  The final letter was different, though. Instead of the corporate typeface with his name and address on all the other letters, this one was handwritten in sweeping cursive. And the return address said Heleo Harvey! Grandpa!

  He ripped it open and unfolded the note, revealing a rustic sheet of paper.

  My dearest (and only) Grandson. Allen, it’s been too long since Grandpa Heleo saw you! You must be about full grown by now. It pains me to admit but I’ve grown quite old, and I am tired of farming. To tell you the truth I was tired of it years ago, haha.

  Allen, would you come live with me in Harvest Hills for the summer? Your old Grandpa needs some help getting the farm in order, and besides we could spend some time together like when you were younger. There’s nothing in Palestar that won’t still be waiting for you in a couple of months (or years), right?

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Love,

  Grandpa Heleo

  The words were delicate, but just the catalyst Allen needed.

  Allen quit his job at ArgentCorp. He sold his furniture suddenly, and sublet his apartment to a nice fellow from the suburbs.

  In a week he found himself aboard a train to a smaller town called Rostgrove. He had a cabin to himself, and slept poorly as he watched the terrain, through mountains where late spring snow was still trapped, then down into rolling plains and what seemed like a thousand miles. It was three days of a whirlwind of scenery like a thousand movies.

  Allen got off the train at a pretty town called Hope Springs built into a steaming geyser, where the land had become badlands. He booked a covered wagon from there. He had a sizeable amount of money still, both from his savings as well as what he’d gotten from selling his furniture. The trip took two weeks overland, in which time Allen watched the distant mountains they were heading toward approach. But they didn’t get that far.

  Rivers began to slice the landscape. They crossed many bridges, stone ones and cobbled ones and wooden ones depending. The wagon driver, a blue-haired man with a glass eye named Pike Flatthook, explained to Allen that dwarves build with stone, elves with wood and men with pebbles. Allen frowned at that, but did not argue.

  They arrived at the dilapidated riverside village of Fishferry in the mists of morning. There at the slurping riverbank Pike awakened Allen. “Don’t be alarmed, but we’re about to ford the river.” The covered wagon was painted blue and white, like frothing waves.

  Pike patted each of the gray-maned horses, and they cantered toward the slurping river. As they submerged the horses morphed, their hooves became dolphin tails, and their arms became fins as they sloughed into the water. The cart began to float over the river with the morphic sea-beats pulling.

  On the other side the dolphins shaped back into horses as they clambered onto the roads, dripping wet. Allen marvelled, but Pike just grunted in return. The next evening they rolled into Harvest Hills.