Outside the garden, grass stands at Jongdae’s calves—none of his grandpas have the strength or energy to cut it shorter. The yard surrounds the house and shed like a green ocean, fenced in by trees that grow taller and closer together the further out they are.

Even the trees have a voice, according to his grandma; if you want to hear them, you need to close your eyes and pay attention—let the forest speak. The voices are wild and soft. From time to time, between the beautiful light, green songs, a desperate cry for help may be heard.

Please, don’t!

Everyone is inside, waiting for the clustering gray clouds to rain, but Jongdae’s still lying in the grass with his head on his arms. He doesn’t mind a bit of rain.

Stop!

Okay, so he’s not just hearing nothing. Someone is calling for help, and they sound panicked.

Jongdae wonders if he should go get someone, even just one of his older brothers, but he decides to investigate first. If it’s bad, he’ll come right back.

Wiping bits of grass from his pants, Jongdae takes off in the direction he thinks he hears the person crying. He passes through the underbrush and hears the stream. The boys aren’t supposed to go to the nearby stream without an adult, but that’s where it sounds like he has to go. It’ll be fine, as long as he doesn’t go in the water.

Something heavy thuds into something solid, and all the hair on Jongdae’s arms lifts at the resounding scream.