“Pass me the herbs we collected.” Charles, your adoptive father, spoke softly. You peered over the kitchen counter, watching as he cooked two hearty slabs of venison.

You grabbed some thyme and rosemary from your little satchel, placing it on the countertop next to Charles.

He gave you a small smile, his hand reaching out to ruffle your hair. Although the words were unspoken, he knew you were a good kid.