As time went on, my mother continued to stay at home with me, talking in a language I couldn’t understand. This allowed me to gradually learn the words she spoke. I quickly figured out which words meant “mommy” and “daddy” because she said those to me constantly. I started using new words as soon as I’d figured them out, without much worry for how it shocked them. They probably thought I was weird, but all I cared about was getting out of diapers as soon as possible.
This cozy, ordinary life went on for three years.
✧✧✧
Time went by, and I reached the age of three.
Based on the information I’d gathered during my three years of life, my dad’s name was Rook, and my mom’s was Suzuya. Our surname, i.e. our family name, was simply Ho.
The name newly given to me was Yuri. Yuri Ho. It was simple and easy to remember.
The day after my third birthday, my dad—Rook—took me to his workplace in the forest. We traveled beyond the tall hills that lay behind our home on a plainrunner.
“Plainrunner” was the name given to a large type of flightless bird that looked like an ostrich in a winter coat. Their bodies were completely covered in fur—except for the legs—and they could, surprisingly, be ridden like horses.
I was absolutely certain that these birds didn’t exist on Earth. If they did, there was no way I wouldn’t have known about them—they’d have been the main draw in every zoo. I already thought it odd that there were people with hair-covered ears, but these strange birds only served as concrete confirmation that I was no longer on Earth.
Our plainrunner made a fine steed, and I found it even more comfortable than riding a horse. As I sat between Rook’s legs, I didn’t feel like I was being rattled around. The bird ran on two legs with joints that looked like backward knees, and the legs absorbed shocks like a car’s suspension.
Rook’s workplace turned out to be something like a ranch. He’d told me so already, but this was definite proof that Rook was more like a ranch owner than a farmer. The sprawling site included barns, fences that outlined what looked like horse-riding courses, and an open area that appeared to be a pasture. Overall, it didn’t look much like a place where you’d keep livestock like cows or pigs—it seemed much more suited to raising racehorses.
“This is my ranch,” Rook announced before hopping off the plainrunner. Then, he lifted me down from the position that had been between his legs.
I didn’t try to hide how impressed I was. “It’s incredible.”
It was a peaceful place, situated within a picturesque clearing in a coniferous forest. The wooden barns were a little worn, but well cared for—there wasn’t a single hole or rotten plank in sight. In fact, none of the buildings showed any signs of decay despite their age. It was a fine ranch even by the standards I’d known in Japan.
“Do you know why I built my ranch out here?” Rook asked with a tinge of pride in his voice.
I already knew from our day-to-day conversations that my dad considered it important to let children think for themselves.
“Did you build everything from scratch, dad?”
I’d been convinced that successive generations of the Ho family must have managed our ranch, but the way he’d worded the question made it sound like Rook had started it himself. And this was no small ranch—it was spread across several hectares.
“That’s right. I made it.”
“Amazing.”
That really is amazing, I thought. Someone his age made all this from nothing? That’s no small feat.
“But enough about that. You didn’t answer my question.”
Oh, right.
Although he’d just chided me, it was clear from the look on Rook’s face that he appreciated the compliment from his son.
It’s seriously impressive. I can’t believe it grew this big in just one generation.
I’d reached his age once myself, but I hadn’t had a wife or any real estate besides the tiny place I’d inherited from my grandfather. Rook, on the other hand, had a wife, a child, a home, and an entire ranch that he’d built from scratch. That was amazing.
“Hmm. Is it so that the animals can be noisy without bothering anyone who lives nearby?” I asked.
“That’s...an interesting idea. I suppose all the noise would annoy anyone living too close.”
If I read between the lines, I understood that wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. Still, he was looking at me with admiration.
Seemed like a sensible answer to me. Maybe I’m still stuck in the city-slicker mindset?
“The thing is, most people living around here keep livestock in their own homes. They wouldn’t care about ours,” Rook continued.
Oh? That’s news to me.
The idea of someone keeping livestock in their own home was...hard to imagine. I knew that my grandfather had once had a stable at home when he was young, but no one who’d lived near me back in Japan had owned a ranch, so I’d never heard of anyone keeping cows or horses at home. I’d seen nothing like it.
“What was the right answer?” I asked. “I can’t figure it out.”
“Look. This area’s between mountains, isn’t it?”
In the distance were things that looked more like large hills than mountains, but he was right that there was nothing but hillside surrounding us in every direction. Visibility here was terrible.
Oh, he’s right. We’re in a small basin.
“The wind passes over the top of the mountains, so the air down here is still,” he explained. “You can’t raise birds properly on windy land.”
Okay, now I get it. It’s hard to argue with that.
Rook still looked young, but he had to have been even younger back when he founded the ranch. He must have searched for a suitable patch of land, and when he’d found the right place, he’d kicked off his business right here—building upon ground that had once been nothing but forest. It sounded simple when I summed it up like that, but there was really nothing simple about it. My dad was quite possibly one of a kind. I wouldn’t normally call someone who’d achieved all of that a farmer—I’d call him a young entrepreneur.
“Is running this ranch your job, dad?” I asked.
“More or less,” Rook replied.
As I’d guessed from conversations back at home, he was managing the ranch himself.
“Do you handle everything by yourself?”
“No, I employ people. They should be here already.”
That figures.
Rook led the plainrunner by its reins to a spot where he could tether it. Next, he took my hand and brought me over to a barn.
The barn’s interior was laid out like stables, but it held plainrunners instead of horses. Even though the birds were in separate rooms with dividing walls, they weren’t crammed in; each one had ample space. Smaller enclosures would have made it possible to keep more birds without the need to expand, so Rook may have been pampering them and prioritizing their well-being over profit.
There were also two people inside the barn wearing work clothes. They were standing in the central walkway on either side of something resembling a trailer. They were giving large amounts of feed to the plainrunners by transferring it from the fully loaded cart into feeding troughs.
“Oh, they eat hay?” I asked. I didn’t know the first thing about plainrunner behavior.
“They’d be scrawny birds if they ate nothing but hay. There’s grains, berries, and beans mixed in with it.”
“Wow.”
So they’re herbivores, I thought. They eat pretty much the same stuff as horses.
“Wild plainrunners eat grass and forage for fallen berries, but they’ll hunt small animals when there’s no other food in the winter. Even here, they’ll sometimes catch a rabbit while out grazing.”
It turned out that they weren’t herbivores. No one had ever heard of a horse eating a rabbit. Judging from their speed and tough beaks, plainrunners were probably adapted to hunt for mice and rabbits as they ran through forests and across grassland.
“Don’t you ever feed them meat?”
“No. Meat makes them strong, but they’ll turn violent once they get a taste for it.”
“I see.”
They develop a thirst for blood?