When you can barely save yourself, how do you save the ones you love?
For twenty-five years, River Foster watched as his people fought for a voice in the world that had been forced upon them. His ancestors had known four hundred years of war, genocide, and upheaval. His family had seen prejudices, poverty, and the loss of a mother and father. His own brother, marred by a childhood of abuse at the hands of racist foster parents, knew only distrust for non-natives and hatred for whites. For twenty-five years, River had lived in a world that had forsaken them.
For twenty-two years, Quincy Dawes had watched as the realities of life conflicted with the perfections of literature. Life wasn’t a Jane Austen novel, it was a Greek tragedy. Fathers left their daughters and no one was ever rescued from their misery. Being an adult meant having no money and a shitty job. For twenty-two years, Quincy had wanted to run while having no where to go.
“Everyone needs a reason to live. It’s the thing that keeps us going; it’s the bigger picture. If it’s not there to ground us, we’re left with nothing. We become wanderers, the lost ones.”