The dark-haired, serious-faced man wandered in the woods, trying to untangle his brambly mind. He had so much to do with what had lately happened to him, so much to consider. A wise decision could mean worlds; a foolish whim could cost dear, devastate it all.
His long black coat drifted in a breeze. The air was crisp, but not unpleasant, and robin’s-egg blue flushed the sky. A female robin herself twittered on a bare branch overhead.

Once upon a time there lived a boy named Michael Grant, who was the youngest of three children. He was ten years old, and his two oldest sisters were sixteen, and twelve; their names were Philomena and Edith. He had a mother and father, whose names were Marie and Luke Grant. Michael also had a Saint Bernard dog, who was two and a half years old. The Grant family lived in a cabin, with a farm, surrounded by woods and lakes and a clear sky.