"Harvest," she wrote beneath it. Then, smaller: "You reap what you have grown."

He read Lesson 8: "A goat’s stubbornness is not defiance—it is knowing which way the cliff is." He chuckled, then grew quiet. "Your father sell the south field yet?"

"Good. Then there’s still a farm."

A neighbor, old Manus, stopped his truck. He squinted at the comics. "What’s this, child?"

Outside, the real farm—her father’s farm—was failing. The well had run dry three weeks ago. The bank’s letter sat unopened by the door. But Olympe wasn’t drawing escape. She was drawing truth.