Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon or any related characters, Natsume does. This includes the five children - I just gave them names and personalities.

Author's Notes: Heheh, well, here it is, my first HM64 fanfiction! And, just so you know, it is something of a next-gen fic. Now before you all run off screaming, I'd first like to ask you to give it a shot -- though it may not seem like it yet, there will be much more of a plot. Though the focus will never entirely shift to the first generation we all know and love, they will be playing a very crucial role, so the story won't be fixed exclusively on characters I've dreamed up. Anyway, on with the show...

Chapter 1

No one really knows what made her leave.

Her best friend thought it was her vineyard; her beautiful, glorious vineyard whose precious grapes had shriveled and withered in the shadow of its renowned years.

Her father thought it was himself; the man who did nothing but bicker and nag and deny his daughter the right to live as she desired.

Her beloved thought it was her child; the rambunctious toddler who was too much trouble for what she was worth.

And her husband knew it was everything; from the man she married to the man she unrighteously loved, from the village she tired of to the city she dreamed of, and from the vineyard she loved like a child to the child she didn't love enough.

It was storming the night she left. The rain fell mercilessly, cold and dark and grey. Her husband was trying to rock their wailing child to sleep. The lights had died hours before, and the desolate condition of her life was beginning to sink in. From what she remembers, she just snapped, concluding it was impossible to live like she was any longer. She left all belongings behind – just vanished behind the door without a word.

Thus Karen left that night, and the vineyard's sweet essence of roses and wine left with her.

Sonya trotted along the rocky banks of Moon Mountain's river, looking up into the clouded sky, arms flailing at her sides for balance. The wind was incredibly strong today.

It's not like there's anything better to do, she thought to herself apprehensively, sparing a wagging arm to pull a loose piece of bronze hair behind her ear and kicking a small stone out of her path. This was the fourth time this week Sonya had fought with her father, and this was the fourth time it had ended with her fleeing the vineyard shouting profanities no twelve-year-old should know, and the fourth time her father had responded by throwing his purple bandana after her and hollering words of equal vulgarity. It was at times like these where she felt she hated him with every fiber in her body. Why did he have to be so stubborn, and more importantly, stupid?

The night before, Sonya had drunken more than a fair share of wine from the cellar, and naturally, her father was enraged. He screamed and berated her, and Sonya's heated reply had been, "It's not like anyone was actually gonna buy it!" This only resulted in enraging her father further, and it satisfied Sonya in a way that made her sick to her stomach. Mom would never have done this, she thought again, this time with a vanity that only the thought of her mother could give her.

From what Sonya had collected from tales and her memories, her mother was a beautiful, exotic dancer with a fiery spirit to match. She was born and raised at the vineyard, and stayed there for the first half of her life. Sonya's vision of her mother had grown to the point where, with certainty, her mother was the most admirable and breathtaking woman Sonya's village had ever seen. She was wild and independent with dreams much too big for such a small village, and therefore left.

Unfortunately, she had married the worker hired by her parents and had given birth to a daughter by the time she had decided to leave. But Sonya never thought of having to forgive her for that.

Sonya could only dream of meeting her mother, whom Sonya thought was a divinity in her own right. And the fact that she was her mother's daughter gave her an odd sense of pride. Her blood is mine, she'd think to herself. The daughter of the vixen, that's what she was. And as she nursed these pompous thoughts in her mind, her foot had caught an uprising stone - and she hadn't even realized she was tripping until her face hit the pebbles on the river's shore. She hissed a curse under her breath and pulled herself up, brushing her shirt off.

Damn rocks, she thought to herself. Knew I shouldn't have come here. She spun around only to meet the taunting face of the boy she recognized from the nearby farm.

"What're you doing here?" Sonya demanded before he could make a smart comment about her fall.

"I should ask you the same," said the boy. "You know it's gonna rain soon, right? Or do you just not care?"

Sonya could think of no intelligent response, for she hadn't known and she did care. So instead she shrugged her shoulders and turned away to mind her own business. The boy, however, stepped in front of her, still awaiting an answer. He folded his arms and looked at her expectantly. "What?!" she shouted, irritated, and turned to face the other way. Unsurprisingly, he stepped to her front again and bent down to look her straight in the eye. "I want an answer, Sonya."

Sonya glared back at him, fighting the urge to rip that tawny hair straight out of his head. "John, you are the single most annoying person I have ever met in my life."

He grinned crookedly, pleased. "It's my job."

"You get some strange satisfaction out of irritating people out of their minds, don't you."

"No," said John airily. "You're just especially fun."

Sonya rolled her eyes emphatically. She turned without word, obviously intending to climb the mountain slope. John expected as much.

He shifted his weight comfortably. "In all seriousness, you should get back home. The storm's going to be bad."

"Don't care," said Sonya, brushing him off with a wave of her hand. She marched towards the mountain path in a self-assured manner.

"Sonya, I mean it..."

"Still don't care," she sang, beginning her ascent up the mountain.

John shrugged. It was her business if she wanted to get sick, and he knew very well that any amount of persuading wouldn't budge her. He made his way back to the path to town, and it was then he felt the first splash of a raindrop on the tip of his nose.

Fifteen minutes later John arrived at the farm, drenched and aching from the cold, but otherwise intact. It was rapidly growing dark and the raindrops were growing heavier with each passing minute, and John couldn't see more than a few yards past his house. However, judging by the snorting and the whinnying and the beating of hooves on the grass, John could tell his father's horse was situated to the left of the field and was in a state of sheer panic. He ran to the horse and grabbed his reins, yanking them downwards and stroking the horse's neck. John's mother, who was tending to a frightened sheep, spotted him and blinked in surprise.

"In the house!" she bellowed against the thunder. The wind whipped her red hair about, and she tried vainly to keep it out of her face.

"But Mom!" John protested. "Ares, he'll--"

"Your father will take care of the horse!" Ann shouted, trying to keep her voice above the wind. "Now get into the house!"

John, knowing his mother was not one to argue with, began trudging into the house, sulking, and only began to run after receiving a vicious glare from Ann.

The second John entered the house, his mother slammed the door behind him and dashed towards the closet. John took a seat near the television as his mom began fishing in the closet for a jacket.

"Wait, where're you going?" John jumped to his feet as Ann ran towards the door, slipping on her newfound jacket.

"I've gotta help your dad put the cows in the barn," she said, almost calmly, reaching for the door handle.

"I want to help!"

Ann whirled, fixing her eyes on the boy, who was staring at her determinedly with her own cornflower eyes. "No. You're staying in here, Jonathan. And if I catch you out of this house, I'll hang you by your toes." She then turned toward the door and yanked it open. Immediately, rain unmercifully surged into the house, showering Ann in a wet layer of sleet.

"But I..."

"I mean it!" she called as she slammed the door shut behind her, further imprisoning John. He frowned, and threw himself onto his parents' bed. He tapped his fingers against the wall impatiently, cursing his parents for constantly being so unfair. They never let him help with important things, no matter how capable he was. They left him there to sit alone, to listen to the bullets of rain beating against the windows.

The dimming lights flickered once, twice, and then altogether died. John sighed inwardly and sat up, beginning to brush his fingertips along surfaces in search of a box of matches. It was only after four or five minutes of blind searching and rummaging did he find them and set light to what was left of a candle sitting beside the bed.

And just as the dim, flickering light gave the room visibility, the door burst open, sending icy torrents of rain and sharp gusts of wind into the house, a silhouette crouched in its frame.

"What the-" John squinted his eyes in order to identify the shadow. "Who is it?"

The stranger wasn't given a chance to answer, for John's parents had come dashing towards the house. Apparently, they were finished with whatever task they had so impolitely excluded John from.

"Whoa!" John's father exclaimed at the sight of the figure. "Come on, we have to get you into the house..."

"Oh man," Ann breathed, leading a drenched Sonya into the house. Sonya shivered audibly, and Ann draped a thick woolen blanket over Sonya's back and sat her down near the fireplace.

Ann immediately questioned her. "How did you get here?!" she asked anxiously, worry lines tracing her face.

"I dunno," Sonya began, tugging at her blanket. "I was running home because it started to rain, but I couldn't really see in the dark... I guess I took a wrong turn at the crossroads..."

John shot her an 'I-told-you-so' look, and Ann groaned in anxiety. "Kai's probably worried sick! We've gotta call him!"

"Mom, the power's out," John said, and as proof he pointed to the candle, their only source of light.

"Oh," Ann said dumbly. She threw up her arms in defeat as fatigue finally began to overtake her, and she dropped onto the bed, exhausted.

Jack grabbed his wife's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Ann, go on and go to bed. I'll take care of the rest."

"No, I'm fine! I'll help with whatever..."

"Really, it's okay. You need rest," Jack said, softly yet firmly. Ann simply nodded and couldn't help the trace of a smile that played on her lips.

John scratched the back of his head. "So... I guess this means Sonya's staying the night."

"That's an awful storm," the mayor muttered as he stared out the waterlogged window, scratching his chin.

Mia nodded briefly in agreement and continued moving the pencil across the parchment fervently, outlining the maze of intertwining lines. She was engrossed in her drawing, as always.

"Great Goddess," Maria breathed upon entering the room. "This is undoubtedly the worst storm I've ever seen!"

"Don't worry, dear," the mayor said as he approached his daughter, reaching up to give her a comforting rub on her shoulder. Maria was, by standard, a short woman, yet her father was nearly an entire head shorter than her. It was a wonder how Maria's mother could have possibly chosen him for her husband - she was taller than Maria herself - yet her mother's mind had always worked in mysterious ways.

Maria lifted her head to call to the dark-haired girl across the room. "Mia, honey?" Mia lifted her head, adjusting her glasses. "Are you sure you can see with just that candle? I could light more if you..."

"I'm fine," Mia said shortly, turning back to the task of putting her mind's image on paper. Maria only nodded quietly.

The sound of a door opening and closing sounded from the back, and a tall man clad in a royal blue suit and cap entered the room, grasping the arm of a preadolescent boy. Both were soaked to the skin, and already the water dripping off their bodies was beginning to collect in pools beneath their feet.

"Harris!" Maria gasped, and then sighed with relief. She ran to him and clasped his arm, standing on her toes in order to plant a kiss on his cheek. Mia did nothing but move her pencil at a constant pace.

"I'm so glad you're all right," Maria continued. "Goddess, I was worried... and... What's this?" she asked meekly, turning to the boy whose arm was still grasped in Harris's. His mop of chestnut hair was soaked and tousled, his clothes were drenched and clinging roughly to his skin.

"I found him trying to get to the vineyard," Harris explained. "Apparently, he was going to the vineyard to try and collect some wine for Duke."

Maria paused for a moment, wondering why anyone - even a bartender - would want wine from such a poor vineyard before speaking again, softly. "Rune, what are you doing here? Elli won't be pleased..."

"It's fine," Rune said. "Mom knows I'm out. She thinks I'm with Uncle Duke."

"And Duke?" Harris queried. "Where does he think you are?"

"The vineyard, I guess," Rune answered nonchalantly. "The storm came too quickly for me to get back on time, anyway, so he probably thinks Kai let me stay there until it calmed."

"Here," Maria started, "I'll get you a fresh change of clothes so you don't catch pneumonia...Mia, could you please get a towel for them?"

Mia laid the parchment and pencil down on the end table, nodding politely. She then scurried out of the room, and Rune watched her without much thought, picking at the wet cloth inconveniently attached to his skin.