Dinner without the Captain had an entirely different energy—lighter, freer, full of warmth and laughter. The children spoke more openly, their usual reserved manners giving way to excited chatter. Even the walls of discipline that had been built around them seemed to soften.

As they settled in, Franz appeared at the dining room entrance, his expression slightly puzzled, his gaze shifting toward the unfamiliar horse hitched outside. He cleared his throat.

"There's a stranger at the door," he announced, his tone polite but wary. "A young man with a horse."

Before he could say more, Maria, now the one in charge, smiled and gestured toward the door. "That would be Johnny. Liesel invited him to dinner." She then gave Franz a reassuring look. "Please, let him in."

Franz, though still slightly uncertain, nodded and stepped aside. Moments later, Johnny entered the dining room.

He looked different now, cleaned up for the occasion. Though only seventeen, he had the composure of someone older, someone who carried himself with quiet confidence. His long black hair was neatly tied back, and though he had no beard to shave, his face was fresh and smooth. He wore a simple but respectable outfit—a button-up shirt tucked into sturdy trousers, his boots well-worn but clean. In his hands, he held an imaginary hat, miming the gesture of tipping it out of respect as he stepped inside.

"Evening," he greeted in his deep but calm voice.

The children stared at him, eyes wide with curiosity. Gretel, still proudly wearing Johnny's real hat, grinned at him from her seat. He chuckled softly at the sight but said nothing, allowing her to enjoy her prize.

Maria stepped forward. "Welcome, Johnny. Please, have a seat."

There was no hesitation in their welcome. Liesel beamed as Johnny sat down, and the children quickly launched into excited conversation. They wanted to know about his horse, his home, the words he had spoken earlier in his language.

Dinner had never felt quite like this before—full of questions, full of learning, full of conversation at dinner was lively and full of wonder, the children's curiosity spilling over like an overflowing cup. They had never met anyone quite like Johnny before, and they wasted no time in asking every question that came to mind.

"So… your hair," Friedrich began, leaning forward in fascination. "You keep it long. Does everyone where you're from do that?"

Johnny chuckled, running a hand through his neatly tied-back hair. "Not everyone, but many of us do. It's important to us—our hair carries our stories, our strength, our connection to who we are."

Liesel listened intently, resting her chin in her hands. "Like a tradition?"

Johnny nodded. "Something like that. Where I come from, our ways go back further than I can count, longer than any of us can truly remember."

Marta's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Is it true you have bison?" she asked eagerly. "Real ones?"

Johnny grinned. "Oh yeah. Big as a house, some of 'em. They move together like a rolling storm across the plains."

The children gasped, picturing the great beasts thundering across the land.

"And grizzly bears?" Kurt asked, slightly more cautiously.

Johnny smirked. "More than a few. You don't wanna go stumbling into one, though. Best to leave 'em be, give 'em their space."

Gretel, still proudly wearing Johnny's hat, piped up, "And salmon? Do you really catch them with your hands?"

Johnny laughed. "Some folks do, if they're quick enough. But most of the time, we use nets or spears." He mimed the movement of throwing a spear into the water, and Gretel's eyes widened with delight.

Brigitta tilted her head, considering him. "It sounds… so free."

Johnny's expression softened. "It is. The land is wide, the sky even wider. You can ride for miles and never see another soul. But it's not just about being free—it's about knowing you belong, that the land, the water, the animals, they're all a part of you. And you take care of what takes care of you."

The table grew quiet for a moment, as if Johnny's words carried something deeper than any of them could quite grasp.

Maria, watching the exchange with quiet admiration, finally spoke up. "That sounds like something we could all learn from."

Liesel, still enchanted by his words, smiled. She had never met anyone who spoke like this, who carried their home and their people with them so effortlessly. It made her think—of herself, of her family, of what home truly meant.

The conversation continued, full of warmth and laughter, as the children eagerly soaked in every bit of Johnny's 's eyes drifted toward the guitar resting by Maria's chair, its polished wood catching the warm glow of the dining room's lanterns. He hesitated for a moment, then gestured toward it with a respectful nod.

"I couldn't help but notice the guitar," he said humbly. "Would it be all right if I played a tune or two? Maybe some ballads from home? I reckon they'd be new to you."

Maria smiled warmly, sensing the genuine nature of his request. "Of course," she said, handing him the instrument. "Music is always welcome in this house."

Johnny took the guitar gently, as if handling something sacred. He tested the strings, adjusting the tuning ever so slightly before settling into a comfortable playing stance.

The children leaned forward eagerly, fascinated by the idea of hearing music from a land so different from their own.

Johnny plucked the strings, the sound rich and deep, carrying a sense of the open plains and wide skies. Then, in a voice smooth as a rolling river, he began to sing:

"Oh, ride away, ride away, where the buffalo roam,
Through valleys wide and rivers deep, the prairie calls me home.
The sun sets gold on mountain high, the wind sings soft and low,
And through the land where eagles fly, my heart will always go."

The melody was different from anything the children had heard before—steadier, wistful, carrying the weight of vast, untamed lands and long journeys under the stars.

Gretel, still wearing Johnny's hat, swayed gently, her little hands tapping the table in rhythm. Marta closed her eyes, imagining wide-open prairies and endless sky. Even Liesel, who had heard many songs in her life, felt something stir in her chest—something wild, something free.

When Johnny strummed the last chord, a hush settled over the table, as if the very air had been changed by his song. Then, all at once, the children burst into applause, their voices overlapping with excitement.

"That was wonderful!" Brigitta beamed.

"I've never heard anything like it," Friedrich admitted, still captivated.

Maria, touched by the beauty of the song, nodded in approval. "That was truly special, Johnny. Thank you for sharing it with us."

Johnny gave a small, modest smile, tipping his imaginary hat once more. "It's a song about home," he said simply. "A place you carry with you, no matter how far you go."

Liesel met his gaze, her mind swirling with thoughts. She understood that feeling more than she cared to the evening wound down, Maria guided the younger children off to bed, their eyes heavy with sleep but their hearts still full of the songs and stories Johnny had shared. Liesel lingered by the door as Johnny stepped outside, adjusting his coat against the crisp night air.

"Good night, Johnny," she said, offering him a smile.

He tipped his imaginary hat once more, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Good night, Liesel. Thank you for letting me share supper with you all. It was… real nice."

As Johnny turned to make his way back to the modest little inn where he was staying, something in the darkness caught his attention. Perched atop a nearby stone wall, Emily sat watching him, her large, intelligent eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

He stopped, tilting his head slightly, as if studying her. Liesel followed his gaze, curious.

"She's always watching over us," she said softly. "It's like she knows things."

Johnny nodded thoughtfully. "A creature like her… she doesn't just watch. She understands. Some would call her a guardian, a protector."

Liesel glanced at him, intrigued. "Do you believe that?"

Johnny took a slow breath, choosing his words carefully, with the weight of his people's teachings behind them. "Where I come from, we don't just see animals as beasts. They have spirits, wisdom. Sometimes, they come into our lives for a reason. A guide, a messenger… maybe even a warning."

Liesel shivered, though not from the cold. "Do you think she's here for a reason?"

Johnny considered Emily for a long moment before answering. "I think she's got a purpose. Maybe she already knows what it is… maybe you'll find out in time."

Emily let out a low, knowing howl, not one of fear or warning, but something softer—almost comforting. It sent a strange warmth through Liesel's chest, as if, for the first time in a long while, she wasn't as alone as she sometimes felt.

Johnny smiled at her reaction. "That's a good sound," he said. "It means she sees something worth protecting."

Liesel swallowed, feeling an unfamiliar tightness in her throat. She wasn't sure what to say, so she just nodded.

Johnny gave her one last nod before heading off toward his lodgings, his long stride carrying him easily down the quiet streets. Liesel remained where she was for a moment, watching Emily as the creature's gaze shifted from Johnny's retreating figure back to her.

A silent promise. A watchful presence.

Liesel let out a small breath and whispered, "Good night, Emily."

The creature blinked, then lifted her head to the sky once more, sending another soft howl into the Liesel drifted into sleep, the warmth of Emily's howl still lingering in her mind, she felt herself slipping into another world—a world both strange and familiar. The plush comfort of her bed melted into soft green grass, and when she opened her eyes, she was neither in Austria nor anywhere she had ever truly been.

She was somewhere between Wonderland and Oz.

The golden road stretched before her, but it was not quite yellow brick—it shimmered and shifted like dappled light through trees, at times cobbled, at times a winding dirt path. The air smelled of wildflowers and something untamed, something she couldn't quite name.

She took a step forward, her blue dress swaying, and looked down at her feet. Not ruby slippers, but polished black shoes, like Alice's. And yet, she knew, in that strange way one does in dreams, that she was also Dorothy.

"Curiouser and curiouser," she murmured, her voice blending the wonder of both heroines.

A soft wind blew through the trees, carrying with it a sound—not quite a howl, not quite a song. She turned, her breath catching.

There, atop a rocky ledge in the distance, stood a creature she had only ever seen in drawings and paintings from the American West. A coyote.

Its fur was sleek and wild, a mix of tawny browns and greys, its eyes glinting with something knowing, something ancient. It stood still, watching her, ears twitching as though listening to something beyond what she could hear.

Liesel felt a shiver—not of fear, but of recognition.

"What are you?" she whispered, taking a step forward.

The coyote tipped its head, its gaze never leaving hers. Then, as if satisfied with whatever it had found in her, it turned and padded off, disappearing into the trees.

Liesel swallowed.

A sign. A guide. A message?

She thought of Johnny's words—of spirits, of protectors, of things coming into life for a reason.

Liesel squared her shoulders and continued down the winding road, her heart steady. Whether she was Alice or Dorothy or simply herself, she had a journey ahead. And now, she had something—someone—watching over her.

Liesel wandered deeper into her dream, the world shifting around her as if the very fabric of Oz and Wonderland wove together. The road beneath her feet changed as she walked—sometimes golden brick, sometimes a checkerboard of black and white, as if reality itself couldn't quite decide where she was.

But always, watching from the edges of her vision, was the coyote.

The creature never got too close, never made a sound. Yet she felt its presence like a shadow in the corners of her mind. Its amber eyes glowed with something quiet and knowing, a silent protector as she pressed forward.

She passed through a forest where trees whispered in hushed voices, their gnarled roots slithering when she wasn't looking. A white rabbit darted past, muttering about being late, and she almost followed—but a soft rustling from the coyote's direction made her pause. No, not that way. That was a distraction. She had something else to find.

And then, as if the dream itself shifted to her thoughts, she stood before the great gates of the Emerald City.

The spires of green glass shimmered in the misty sky, too tall to seem real, and she could hear the hum of life beyond the gates. But before she could move closer, laughter rang out, sharp and cruel.

She turned.

The Queen of Hearts stood there, in all her dreadful grandeur, red velvet robes trailing behind her like spilled wine. Her face was a mask of painted fury, eyes narrowing as they settled on Liesel.

"There you are," the Queen sneered. "Finally."

Liesel stepped back. "I—I don't think I'm supposed to be here."

"Oh, but you are," the Queen purred, stepping closer. "Lost little girls always find their way to me."

Liesel's hands curled into fists. "I'm not lost."

The Queen tilted her head, considering her. "No?" she mused. "Then why are you running?"

Liesel faltered.

Before she could reply, movement caught her eye.

The coyote had stepped from the shadows, standing between her and the Queen of Hearts. It did not growl, did not bare its teeth. It simply stood, unmoving, a silent 's heart pounded.

The coyote turned its head, looking at her now. Not at the Queen. Not at the Emerald City. At her.

A choice.

She looked at the city, at the golden road leading to it. Safety? A new future? But behind her, the Queen of Hearts grinned, and she understood—she could not stay here.

Taking a breath, she nodded to the coyote.

And just like that, the world began to shift again, the Queen's laughter dissolving into the wind as the dream faded.

Liesel stirred in her bed, the warmth of Johnny's kindness still lingering in her dream twisted again. The Emerald City and the Queen of Hearts melted away like watercolor in the rain, and Liesel found herself standing in a field of tall golden grass. The wind whispered through it, rustling softly, carrying voices she couldn't quite understand. The coyote stood beside her, watching, waiting.

Then, from the distance, a figure emerged.

Rolfe.

But he wasn't quite Rolfe.

His uniform was sharper, his stance stiffer, and his eyes… they weren't the warm, mischievous ones she had looked into that night in the rain. No, these were colder, shadowed by something unspoken.

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Liesel."

She took a step back.

The coyote let out a low breath through its nose, not a growl, not a warning—just a reminder. Find yourself.

Rolfe extended his hand. "Come with me."

Something in her stomach twisted. "Where?"

"Where you belong."

She shook her head. "I belong here."

His smile faded just slightly. "You don't even know where here is."

Liesel turned to the coyote. Its amber eyes held her gaze, steady and knowing. She could feel its warmth, the grounding presence of something old and true.

But when she turned back to Rolfe, she realized the sky behind him had darkened. The golden grass had wilted, the wind had stopped, and there was something hollow in his face now, something unfamiliar.

"You trust that thing?" he asked, gesturing to the coyote with a sneer. "A scavenger? A trickster?"

Liesel's heart pounded.

She looked at the coyote again, and suddenly, she understood.

The stories Johnny told, the old ways, the meaning behind the coyote—it was not a beast of deception. It was a teacher. A guide. A reminder that she was not lost, not if she listened to herself.

She turned back to Rolfe, standing in his growing shadow.

"I think I should wake up now," she said.

Rolfe's face twitched.

The coyote nudged her gently, and as she exhaled, the dream shattered around her like glass.

Liesel gasped awake in her bed, heart racing, the morning light filtering softly through the curtains. The dream lingered like an echo, but as she sat up, catching her breath, she felt something new.

A clarity she hadn't had before.

Something had changed.