Page 214 of Lost Then Found
I raise my brows, about to signal Moose to take off, but Wren’s voice pulls me back.
“Lark?”
I glance over. “Yeah?”
Her voice is steady but quiet, the way people sound when they’re trying not to lose their grip on something they didn’t expect to feel. “Thanks. For…you know. All of it.”
“Of course.” I let Moose inch forward, settling back in the saddle. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to beat your ass back.”
She doesn’t answer—just takes off like the devil’schasing her.
“Real mature!” I shout, already laughing as Moose bolts after her.
The wind stings. There’s dirt in my teeth. My braid whips across my shoulder like it’s trying to strangle me—and still, this is the best I’ve felt in weeks. Moose is fast, steady under me as we barely pass them, and for a few minutes, everything is movement and breath and nothing else.
I glance back once, just for a second, and Wren’s not far behind. Her ponytail’s flying behind her like fire, her smile wide—not that closed-off thing she’s been doing when I’m around lately. This is real. Full force. Unfiltered. Like she’s finally letting go of what’s been clawing at her since I came back.
I turn forward again, still smiling, but something shifts in my chest—like the knot I’ve been carrying around all this time just loosened a little.
We didn’t exactly have the smoothest re-entry, me and her. No one could blame her. Learning you’ve got a twelve-year-old nephew living practically in your backyard? That’s a lot to swallow. Not something you just breeze through.
But today felt different. Lighter. Like a door cracked open just enough to let in some air. She’s still figuring it out, but I can feel it—she’s coming back to me. Piece by piece, I’m starting to recognize her again.
Growing up, I didn’t have siblings. Not even a cousin close by, no one to fight with over bathroom time or steal clothes from. Just me and Dad, orbiting around each other in our tiny house on the edge of town. But the Wilding kids—they filled that space like they’d been born to it. They weren’t just friends; they weremine. My people. My family, even if we didn’t share blood.
But Wren—Wren was the one of the closest things I had to a sister besides Sage and Miller. Always there, always steady in her own way.
She might look just like Molly, but deep down, she’s Lane through and through.
And Lord have mercy on the soul who ends up with her. Not in a bad way—more like in agood luck keeping upsort ofway. I just hope whoever it is doesn’t try to dull the fire in her, doesn’t mistake her sharp edges for something that needs smoothing out. I hope they see it for what itis—strength, a rare kind of honesty—and realize how damn lucky they are to have her.
Hoofbeats drum steady behind me, closing in, and I glance back just as Wren urges Ringo up alongside Moose, her grin wild, hair whipping across her face.
“You better pray that horse of yours has got another gear, grandma!” she yells, laughing like she’s already won.
I glance over, unimpressed. “You cut the damn fence line.”
She grins. “And?”
“And that’s cheating.”
She scoffs. “It’s called efficiency, Lark. Try it sometime.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, kicking Moose just to keep up. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet,” she says, already pulling ahead, “still faster than you.”
I flip her off.
She laughs like a maniac. “See you at the finish line, loser!”
Moose surges forward beneath me, and I lean low over the saddle, laughter spilling out of me before I can stop it. The sun’s dipping low now, casting shadows over the trail, dust kicking up in our wake. She’s close, but not close enough.
For the first time in what feels like forever, it doesn’t feel like we’re on opposite sides of some invisible line. We’re just us, the way we used to be—loud, reckless, free. And God, I’ve missed this. Missed her. We’re not all the way there, but the distance doesn’t feel so impossible anymore.
It feels like maybe we’ll find our way back.
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