Dietrich was still seated in the sand when Zeph left the water. The younger man set his surfboard down before picking up his towel and drying himself as best he could, then sat on the towel. "Okay, Dietrich, what's the first step to successful meditation?"

"Well, in this case, the first step is catching your breath," Dietrich said. "Take your time and try not to force it."

Zeph nodded, and tried to adjust his posture.

"Sit in a way that makes you comfortable. The goal here is to minimize outside distractions and discomforts."

"That'll be difficult given that this is a beach. Someone could come with screaming children or barking dogs at any moment."

"We will deal with that should such a situation arise," Dietrich said. Once he noticed Zeph wasn't breathing hard anymore, Dietrich decided to begin. "Now, face me. Yes, this is a beach, but we should consider ourselves fortunate that we are here when it is not packed with people. The only sound we have are the waves against the shore, and the breeze itself. Have you ever taken the time to really enjoy a place like this, beyond surfing?"

"Not really. I won't stay if the conditions aren't right. I know most people prefer a calm ocean so they can swim. For me, it means I can't do anything."

"Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but today, I am going to teach you to calm the sea of your mind, to achieve the glassy surface that surfers typically cannot stand."

"How is that going to help?"

"So you can see, and focus, and better evaluate your decisions. If you want to be successful helping people learn to surf, and use that to help them overcome various difficulties in their lives, it would help to start overcoming the difficulties in yours first."

"I mean…" Zeph shrugged. "Jules said you were the best at this."

Dietrich weakly smiled. Part of him was glad that Jules thought so highly of him, but another was certain there was someone out there much better at doing things like this. Still, he was asked to do this by a good friend, therefore he would give it his best try. "One of the hardest decisions I ever made was choosing to go back into the military once West Germany was allowed one, because I once believed that I was at fault for many of my soldiers' deaths, especially in North Africa. How could I be trusted to lead more? It took time for me to accept that I had done the best I could, and to stop dragging myself down with constantly asking 'what if I had done something differently' or 'why did this have to happen.' It is normal to ask that in the immediate aftermath, but when it becomes constant, repetitive, every waking hour, it becomes destructive." Dietrich turned over his hands to show Zeph the scars on the inside of his wrists. "This is what can happen when things like that spiral out of control. I had pull myself out of a very dark place, and it is not something I want to see anyone else go through."

"So, you really do know what you're talking about."

"You could say that. However, I know my own situation best. You know your situation best. I want you to tell me when something is not working, or when something is working very well. I want you to ask questions and challenge me, because it is how we will both learn."

"Okay." Zeph looked down at his lap, and shifted to get comfortable.

"Breathe as you normally would, but every so often, take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds, and then release it slowly. Try to imagine it as releasing your racing thoughts, your insecurities, your bad memories, your lack of confidence, and putting them somewhere you can evaluate them later."

Zeph didn't look sure about this at first, but he tried—or, at least, it looked like he was trying. Dietrich tried to remember when he was last at a beach like this. Oh, yes. Wilmington, when we visited Hitch last summer. Hard to enjoy when Esther and I have to keep an eye on Gunther. This is nice. He gave Zeph a few more minutes. "How are you feeling now?"

"I don't know. I guess… doubtful," Zeph replied.

"Why?"

"I started thinking about what you said like taking out the rubbish, and… there's a lot of it. Just endless bags of rubbish. Maybe I'm a lost cause."

"No. No, no, no, we are not going to think that. Nobody is a lost cause, especially not when they have not even tried. It is overwhelming. I understand that completely. You will get there, and you are not going to be alone."

"I don't know where to start."

"Alright. You mentioned to me last night that you initially rejected the idea of your own camp because you do not want to feel responsible if something goes wrong and you make someone worse off than they were before. We can start with that. Why are you so worried about that?"

"Because how can I help anyone else when I can't help myself?"

"You were able to help Jules."

"That was luck. Nothing more."

"Was it?"

"Yes. I'm convinced so. I went with that idea on a whim because it was upsetting seeing him panic every time we encountered magpies. I didn't think it would work, especially when he was getting frustrated when I gave him the simplest task."

"But did he succeed in the end?"

"Yeah. He did. That won't work on people I don't know. I can't just push and push and tell them to figure it out on their own. Not everyone is going to persist like Jules did."

"No, but there will come a point where you will have to tell your students to figure something out on their own. It is part of the process."

"That means I have to teach properly in the first place."

"And do you think you can?"

"I hope so. I've never actually won anything, so I don't have anything to show anyone that I actually know what I'm doing. No one will take me at my word, and I don't think they should. For all they know, I'm a liar looking to just collect their money and run."

"You are not part of any surfing clubs yourself, are you?"

"No. Never even tried to join one."

"Why?"

Zeph looked like he didn't want to answer. Eventually, he shrugged, and said, "I don't fit in. I like surfing, but I don't even feel like I belong to that particular culture."

"Being a loner is not necessarily a bad thing. It has its good points and bad points. It is not healthy to be completely alone all the time." Dietrich paused for a moment. "Speaking from experience."

Zeph shrugged. "I'm alone for months on end when Lysander is in Auckland, and I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

"I do mean 'healthy' in the physical and mental sense. I am guessing that a sense of belonging is missing from you."

"Maybe, but why should that matter?"

"We all have moments in our lives where things become difficult, even unmanageable. It helps to have someone you know you can count on to help you. Your own family should have been people you could count on, but they turned their backs on you when you still needed help finding your way."

"Pretty much. I'm not sure there's a way to fix it, though." Zeph picked up his wand before turning to face the tide.

"There might be, but I can understand if you are not ready to try."

"Maybe when I'm actually successful at something. Maybe."

"I can see why you would wait, but I advise against rubbing it in. Give them a chance to think about and understand what you have accomplished. After all, this should be a chance to repair things, not make them worse."

"Oh, don't worry. I'd rather fix things. I just don't know if they want to. They know where to find me."

"Perhaps they are thinking the same thing."

"Maybe." Zeph sighed heavily. "Well, this's been a bloody waste of time, eh?"

"Not really."

"Honest? Because I haven't done anything you said. I tried for five minutes and came away doubting myself more than before."

"And that is alright. We can try again later." Dietrich watched Zeph pick up his surfboard and head back out to the water. Once again, he felt he was missing some pieces, but wasn't sure how to get Zeph to explain more. It was difficult to tell where the problem lay, but Dietrich also felt it wasn't any one thing. It was clear that Zeph had very little in terms of personal relationships, and the cardboard boxes in Lysander's bedroom also said that he had very little in terms of personal possessions as well. He was sleeping on a couch in someone else's house. He didn't have much to call his own, apart from his wand, his surfboard, his broom, and the boxes at the house. Dietrich remembered the restrained joy he felt when he was given the deed to his house in Hammelburg. It was the happiest he had felt in years. After living in an apartment for most of his life, he finally had something to call his own. It was something he planned to treasure. It was something that gave him another reason to simply live. He spent weeks making it his own, setting things up the way he preferred, adding little personal touches here and there. He loved it, and still did, as it was one of the first few steps that allowed him to start healing after his suicide attempt.

It seemed Zeph was missing much more than just a place to call home, and Dietrich was beginning to wonder if he needed to push a little harder to get some answers.

They were careful returning to Lysander's as the issue of Silas Wilkins was still present. Zeph went for his shower, while Dietrich went into the living room to find Soot laying on the floor. The dog looked up at Dietrich, tongue lolling out, then got up to sit by him. Dietrich knelt by Soot, giving him a gentle scratch around his ears. Apart from Moffitt's Siberian husky, Livna, Dietrich hadn't had an opportunity to be around a dog since the red stray that the Rats left with him in North Africa. He didn't dislike dogs the way Moffitt used to, but Dietrich didn't have the energy for one of his own.

Dietrich glanced toward the bathroom door when he heard it open, followed by Zeph saying, "Oi, Dietrich, can you get me something?"

"What is it?" Dietrich asked.

"There's a bottle containing a violet-colored potion in the cabinet to the right of the sink. It should be labelled 'hair cleaning potion.'"

"Sure." Dietrich opened the cabinet Zeph was referring to, and took out the bottle. "Typically, hair potions seem to be at the center of mischievous or fraudulent schemes perpetrated by witches and warlocks seeking to harm unknowing patrons, or their wallets."

"This stuff is genuine," Zeph said. "Made it myself, actually."

"Your own recipe?"

"Yep." Zeph stood in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around his waist. He poured a small amount of the watery, violet potion into his palm before massaging it into his hair. "See, one way I don't fit well with the stereotype of a surfer is that I don't care for the hairstyle a lot of them have."

"The messy look?"

"Yeah. Seawater can really ruin your hair, too, so I experimented a little until I found a combination of ingredients that worked. This stuff—" Zeph picked up the bottle, "—keeps hair really soft and easier to manage. I do want to be married someday, and I'm not sure what girl wants to touch rough, tangled hair."

Dietrich grinned. "Perhaps you could consider that another potential career—selling this hair potion."

Zeph shrugged. "Not sure there'd be a market for it. Most surfers like the messy look."

"You never know, though."

Zeph didn't respond for a moment, then turned to go over to the bathtub. He took the shower nozzle from its hook and let the water run until it was warm before leaning over and rinsing his hair. After turning the water off, he grabbed another towel and thoroughly dried his hair before putting more of the potion in his palm. He ran that through his hair like before, and opened the medicine cabinet to pull out a brush. "First run gets all the salt and crap out. Second run is like a conditioner."

"Seems you put a lot of thought into this."

"I did. My first two attempts weren't good, but it's not like in fiction where a botched potion will change your hair color or turn it into plants or animals. That's not how magic bloody works. Nah, the worst that happened was my hair became extremely greasy, like I dunked my head in fish oil."

"That sounds horrendous."

"Oh, it was. Now I've got something that works, though."

Dietrich leaned against the doorway. "You kept trying despite a pretty serious failure."

"I know where you're going with that. It was just me involved. No one else. That's different."

"Still. Most people probably would have been unwilling to continue trying after having to clean something like that, because it could happen again."

Zeph paused. "I mean, I guess you're right." He kept brushing, looking somewhat absently into the mirror, then glanced at Dietrich. "Hey, could you get a couple of kumaras out of the fridge? Thanks."

As soon as Dietrich left the bathroom, Zeph closed the door. Dietrich went into the living room first to make sure no one was coming up the driveway, then returned to the kitchen. He noticed Soot sitting patiently by the counter, and figured that if the dog was still acting normally, he had nothing to worry about. He opened the refrigerator, finding some of the goodies that had been hidden in the cooler the day before. As tempting as some of the large chocolate bars were, Dietrich left them alone, and took a pair of kumaras—New Zealand's take on sweet potatoes—out of the vegetable drawer.

Soot turned toward the door rather suddenly, and Dietrich looked out a window to see Silas approaching the house. Thinking fast, Dietrich opened one of the cabinets under the counter and crawled inside, pushing aside some pots and pans to fit. He heard the door open, and remained as still as possible, doing his best to breathe quietly.

"Zeph?" Silas called.

"Out in a second, sir!" Zeph replied. The bathroom door opened. "You need something?"

"Two things. We have a customer coming over tomorrow to look at a horse, so I want you to be out early and give everyone in your assigned stable a good brushing," Silas said.

"You got it, sir. What's the other thing?"

"Is there someone visiting you?"

"No. Why?"

"I swear I saw someone come up the drive yesterday to this house."

"Oh, some guy needed directions. That's all."

"Ah. Alright." Silas was quiet for a second. "You're already making dinner for yourself? You know, the missus is alright with you coming over to the main house to eat with us."

"Nah, it's all good, sir. I like cooking on my own."

"If that's what you want." Silas sighed. "Can't believe Lysander's going to Massey later this year. Feels like yesterday, he was driving out to Auckland on his own."

"He seems happy with all this."

"That he does. He's going to be a wonderful vet. That reminds me, how are things coming with the surf camp?"

"I haven't really gotten anything off the ground yet. I'm doing everything Jules's dad suggested, but some things still need… ironing out."

"Look, I'll help you out with any beginning costs, but I'm not handing over anything until you're actually ready."

"I understand. I wasn't going to ask for anything."

"Alright. Well, like I said, you're welcome to come down to the house, and talk to people, that way you're not spending all your time here alone."

"I appreciate the offer, but, it's okay, sir. Maybe another day."

"Alright. Have a good night, Zeph."

"Thanks. You, too."

The front door closed, and after a few minutes passed, Zeph called, "Dietrich? Where'd you go?"

Dietrich opened the cabinet and crawled out. "In the kitchen."

"That was close."

"Indeed."

Zeph returned to the kitchen. "Wait. I never even told you what a kumara is. How did you figure it out?"

Dietrich smirked. "I remember listening to conversations between your countrymen while processing them for transfer to POW camps in Germany, and I did some reading before making the journey down here."

"Mate, I can't even remember what I had for breakfast last Tuesday. How can you remember random conversations between Kiwi soldiers that didn't involve you from twenty-five years ago?"

Dietrich shrugged. "I like to take in knowledge that may be useful one day."

Zeph took out a cutting board and a peeler before taking the skin off the kumaras. He was biting his lip and working his jaw, looking like he wanted to say something. Finally, he said, "Did you ever encounter a Lance Corporal Gabriel Taera?"

"You might have to jog my memory a bit more. What was his unit?"

"28th Māori Battalion."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"That was the only unit in the entire war that gave me more grief than Troy's Rat Patrol."

"I can't say that's a huge surprise. They're bloody legends."

"Indeed. It was quite rare for me to pull off any successes against them, so captures were minimal. Among the prisoners I did manage to take, I do not recall anyone named Gabriel Taera. Can I ask why you are inquiring about this person?"

Zeph went quiet again while he cooked. "He's a distant cousin."

"Does that mean you are part Māori?"

"Yes, but it's not a side of my family I know much of anything about."

"Does that bother you?"

"It does a little. I had a chance to meet a lot of my extended family at a gathering when I was twelve. My family is a mix of everything. Magicless Pākehā, Māori, and witches. I didn't want to just hide behind my parents the whole time, and it wasn't fun for a little while, because I didn't feel like I could bond with anyone. I didn't want to be around the kids. None of the adults wanted me around—well, they didn't want any of the kids around because they were more interested in talking to each other. Gabriel was the only person there who talked to me like an equal. He brought pictures and other things from North Africa." Zeph laughed. "He even had this deformed piece of metal. I asked what it was, and he said it was a German bullet that the field medics removed from his leg in Italy. He said he kept it as a reminder to be grateful for each day we get. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Nobody else was as intrigued. Mum told him to stop and I was told to go hang around people my own age."

"That had be a massive disappointment."

"It was. I really liked Gabriel, and I wish we had been able to stay in contact."

"So, I am guessing you have no way of finding him without talking to your parents."

"Nope, and I'm not ready for that. Not yet. Plus, who knows what's changed in the last seven years. What if it's not even worth it?"

"Well, you would never find out if you do not try, but I completely understand if you are not yet ready to try."

"Thanks."

"It is difficult to try and fix those relationships, even when years go by. I had no intention of talking to my blood family again after I was kicked out on Christmas Eve, 1943. One of my brothers then came to my door in late summer of 1962. I was pretty vehemently against the idea of talking to him again, but with a little help and a lot of thought, we are now quite close."

"Is it ever awkward?"

"No. We are able to talk about the things that happened maturely. We put everything behind us and have spent the last few years building the relationship that we should have had as children. It has been well worth the effort. My wife gets along very well with my brother's wife. I am glad to spend time with my niece and nephew. It has made me a lot happier. I know that cannot and will not happen with everyone, but if the chance is there, take it."

Zeph nodded. "I want to try, just not yet."

"And that is perfectly fine." Dietrich looked down when he felt a dog's nails dig into his leg, and saw Soot standing on his hind legs, quietly demanding attention from the skinny German. With a smirk, Dietrich gently massaged Soot's head.

Zeph had just put a handful of kumara chips into a pan of frying oil on the stove when the phone started ringing. He wiped his hands on a towel before taking the phone off the hook. "Hello?"

"Hey, Zeph, just calling to check in, mate," Lysander said.

"Everything's alright. Jules's friend arrived yesterday."

"Oh, good. Dad hasn't seen him, has he?"

"No."

"Even better. Has Dietrich been helping you at all?"

"He's trying." Zeph glanced at Dietrich. "It's been slow."

"Are you being stubborn?"

"I'm trying not to. He's got the patience of a saint, mate. I swear, most people would've quit on me by now. He's still here. Hasn't gotten angry once."

"Well, you remember everything Jules and his dad told us about Troy, right? No wonder Dietrich is so patient. I wish I was there to meet him in person."

"Couldn't you visit on a weekend?"

"I'm shadowing a vet this weekend. Maybe next."

"Fine."

"Hey, don't sound too upset. Oh, before I forget, the paper had an article on another surf contest in Piha. I know you didn't do well last time, but—"

"I'll do it. I know how the waves work in Piha now. I might have a better chance this time."

"Alright. I hope you do well, then. It's this coming Saturday, mate, but they want you to be registered by Friday."

"Perfect. I'll be there."

"I wish you luck, then, but I also wish I could be there."

"It's alright, Lysander, I'm used to no one being with me."

"You've got Dietrich with you."

"Oh, yeah. That'll be… an interesting experience, actually having someone to watch me."

"It'll feel good, I hope. You need that."

"I guess."

"No, don't 'I guess' this. You need someone watching you."

"I'm just saying, it's not going to make a difference if someone's watching or not."

Lysander sighed heavily. "I'll stand by my words."

Their conversation turned to Soot and the horses. Dietrich listened, but was also thinking about Zeph admitting to not having any support whenever he went to a surfing tournament. Of course I will go with him. Little things like that can go a long way.

After his conversation with Lysander ended, Zeph hung up the phone and turned back to his cooking. He glanced at Dietrich. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"No, I will go with you," Dietrich said. "I would like to explore a bit more of the country anyway."

"Well, Piha's a good place to explore. The bush surrounding the beach is quite pretty."

"Have you taken the chance to walk around, then?"

"Only to find a good camping spot. Cheaper than a hotel room."

Dietrich frowned. "You do not bother with a hotel room?"

"Not… all the time. Around here, yeah. In Australia, I only got a hotel because it was closer to the beach, and I didn't have the ingredients for antivenom potions in case I was bitten by a snake or spider."

"When we go to Piha, we are getting a hotel room."

"Why? Camping's not bad—"

"Because I can pay for it."

Zeph looked like he wanted to argue, but instead offered a defeated, "Fine."

It was still dark when Dietrich awoke the following morning. A headache steadily began blooming behind his eyes as he reached over to the small table between the recliner and couch to get his watch. And it is four in the morning. Wonderful. Dietrich put his watch down, and tried to settle back in to get some more sleep. He managed to doze off, but it felt like only five minutes had passed when he was roused by someone banging on the front door and shouting, "Zeph! I told you to be out early yesterday, didn't I?!"

"Oi! I'll be out in a bloody second!" Zeph shouted back. He was frantically pulling a shirt over his head as he came out of the bathroom, and broke into a run when the door opened. "I said I'd be out. I overslept."

"I can see that," Silas said. "Get to work on the horses. The customer's going to be here in an hour."

The door would keep Silas's view into the living room blocked unless he stepped past it. Dietrich didn't dare move. He prayed in his head that he would remain unseen.

"I didn't have breakfast yet," Zeph said.

"No. You didn't bother setting an alarm for yourself. You overslept. You can eat when you're done. Let's go."

"Fine. I'll be right out. Let me get my bloody boots on." Zeph didn't let go of the door until Silas left, then glanced at Dietrich. "You good, mate?"

Dietrich gave him a thumbs-up.

"Don't you oversleep. Never know when Mr. Wilkins will come back."

Dietrich sighed. He was tired enough to want to get more sleep, so his only response to Zeph was a grunt before attempting to drag himself from the chair.

"If you want to keep sleeping, go hide in Lysander's closet. Just don't snore."

"I do not snore," Dietrich muttered.

Zeph laughed. "Yeah, you do, mate."

"Shut up and go do your chores." Dietrich stood in the middle of the living room for a little while after Zeph left the house. He closed the recliner and neatly folded the blanket before opening his luggage and getting a change of clothes, his razor, and shaving cream. He hid the rest of his luggage in the linen closet like the day before, and went into the bathroom to shave. Despite badly wanting a cup of coffee, he took his time shaving. When he finished, he rinsed and dried his razor, leaving it on a towel to air-dry a little more while he got dressed. After getting dressed and making sure the bathroom was as clean as he found it, Dietrich brought his shaving supplies back to his luggage in the closet.

He looked out the window, seeing Zeph grooming one of the horses outside the stable. It was tempting to go out and try to help him, but the risk was high for Dietrich to be seen. He mulled over some ideas while brewing coffee, making sure there was enough for Zeph later. While enjoying his first cup, Dietrich went back to the window. He spotted an older man approaching Zeph, and slowly lowered his mug when he got a better look at the man's face. The left side of his face and both arms had scarring characteristic of burns.

A lightheaded feeling crept over Dietrich as he kept watching. He made sure the coffee mug was on a table as he braced himself for the possibility of passing out, and took a deep breath to try and steady himself as a long-buried memory surfaced in his mind, laced with hot, dry air and the stench of burning fuel and flesh.

What remained of the convoy was in tatters. Dietrich grabbed the sleeves of his surviving soldiers, shouting at them to pile in whatever vehicles were still intact. The drivers had orders to go, while he himself wasn't leaving until the last man was safe. His voice was hoarse and his throat raw from shouting over the engines of trucks speeding away from the fresh graveyard of men and vehicles. The sand was stained red and black from blood and fuel leaking freely. While helping a badly spooked private into a waiting truck, Dietrich heard Lieutenant Wintsch calling, "Sir! There are no more survivors! We need to get out of here! The New Zealanders will come looking for their men any minute!"

"Are you positive there are no other wounded?" Dietrich asked.

"I checked. All these men lying here are dead."

"Alright. Get in. We will meet up with the others." Dietrich climbed into the back of his Kübelwagen, with an anxious Wintsch at the wheel. As the car sped off to catch up with the convoy's survivors, Dietrich spotted a New Zealander soldier, covered in burns and gashes, trying to pick himself up off the hot sand. Guilt and horror crashed over Dietrich. He pondered telling Wintsch to go back, but somehow couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt frozen in place, watching the unfortunate soldier getting smaller and smaller as they continued racing away. We should go back. We cannot just leave him! No, we have to get the rest of these supplies to where they need to go, and get the wounded to a hospital… we cannot stop for one man. Despite opting for what felt like the logical choice, Dietrich couldn't help feeling he had done something wrong. His guilt kept punching him in the stomach. He couldn't fault Wintsch for missing the burned soldier. It seemed like an easy mistake to make, so he blamed himself for not giving the order to double-check.

All these years later, Dietrich realized he was staring out the window at the man he thought he had left for dead. He was glad that man had survived, but he also wished he hadn't left him in the first place. What happened is in the past now. There is no changing it, Dietrich thought. All we can do is reconcile. He picked up his coffee and left the window. He wasn't ready to say anything, and feared the worst for Zeph and Lysander if Silas found out they were both friends with a German officer. Was there a good time to say something? Dietrich was beginning to doubt it, and figured it was best his presence stayed a secret.