The hollow beneath the wind-twisted juniper had served him well for many seasons. From its shadow, he had watched rabbits dart through sagebrush, coyotes drift beneath the moon, and eagles circle the pale blue sky. It was a safe place where every scent and sound belonged to the familiar world.

Then came the music.

It floated across the valley, unlike the cries of birds or the whisper of the desert wind. It rose and fell with a strange rhythm, accompanied by deep thumps that echoed through the earth. Curiosity stirred stronger than caution, and he crept to the edge of his hidden refuge.

As they passed, he, watching from his lair, moved swiftly to the ground and closer to the door for a better view.

The procession was unlike anything his young eyes had ever imagined. Tall animals with flowing manes carried men clothed in brilliant colors that flashed beneath the morning sun. Blue cloth, red cloth, and polished metal glittered like water. Some wore broad hats, while others carried long sticks of wood and iron across their shoulders.

At the center rolled a curious wooden house upon great wheels. Its sides were painted in faded colors, and from its open doorway drifted the enchanting music. A man seated inside pulled and pushed upon a curious box that breathed melodies sweeter than birdsong. Others laughed, clapped their hands, and sang in voices both joyful and mysterious.

Hidden among bunches of rabbitbrush, the boy edged closer. Every heartbeat urged him onward, though every lesson taught warned him to remain unseen. The strangers smelled of horses, leather, smoke, and unfamiliar spices carried from lands beyond imagination.

One woman noticed movement in the brush. For a heartbeat, her eyes met his. She smiled.

Not the grin of a hunter who had spotted prey, nor the hard stare of a warrior measuring an enemy. It was simply a smile, warm as morning sunlight after a cold desert night.

The child froze. The woman lifted one hand in greeting before the wagon rolled onward, carrying her farther down the dusty trail.

He remained perfectly still until the last horse disappeared beyond a ridge. Only then did he step from hiding and stand where the wagon had passed. Deep tracks scarred the earth. Horseshoe prints overlapped one another, and scattered beside them lay wonders beyond understanding—a bright blue feather fallen from a hat, a tiny brass button glinting in the dust, and a sweet smell lingering in the air.

He picked up the button and held it tightly.

Somewhere beyond the mountains, these people had come from. Somewhere beyond the endless horizon, there existed places where houses could travel, music lived inside wooden boxes, and strangers smiled without speaking.

The desert seemed unchanged. The sage still swayed. Ravens still called from distant cliffs. Yet nothing was truly the same.

From that morning forward, the doorway of his little hiding place no longer opened only upon the familiar valley. It opened upon a world far larger than he had ever dreamed.