Free PURE OF HEART by Christopher Greyson Page B

sounded familiar to Dean. He saw all sorts of animals as they walked: squirrels, rabbits, and foxes; blue jays, sparrows, and hawks.
    Dean pointed out the trees that looked the same: elms, pines, and maples. But he could tell there was something very different about the trees he looked at now. None looked healthy. On most, barren branches clutched at the gray sky. Others were already skeletons whose dead leaves broke off in the light, infrequent breezes.
    Toward the middle of the day, the sun drove away the shadows and shined down upon them, lightening their spirits but making the walk seem just a little too warm. They trekked on, headed down the straightening path.
    “Hey, Han. When does a Krulg look good?” Dean asked as they stopped to rest.
    “What?”
    “It’s a joke. You’re supposed to say ‘I don’t know. When does a Krulg look good?’”
    “I know what a joke is. You don’t think we have jokes?”
    “I didn’t really think about it, but I figure you must have jokes. Let’s start over. When does a Krulg look good?”
    “I don’t know?” Han smirked. “When does a Krulg look good?”
    “When it’s on the end of a spear!” Dean laughed.
    “Hey, that’s good. Do you have any more?”
    “Yeah. How many Krulgs does it take to screw in—that won’t work. How do you save a Krulg from drowning?”
    “How?”
    “Take your foot off its head.”
    They both laughed, and Dean stretched out on the grass.
    “Can I ask you a question about the Heavens . . . I mean, where you’re from?” Han asked.
    “Yeah. What do you want to know?”
    “Well, how did you get the name Dean? I never heard of a Dean before.”
    “I’m named after the movie star James Dean.”
    “Movie star? What’s a movie star? I know what normal stars are but a movie star? If you’re named after a star, then you must be from the Heavens!” Han stared wide-eyed at Dean again.
    “I’m not from the Heavens. I was born in America, but my parents went on a trip to France—”
    “France? What’s France? If you ask—”
    “Shut up and listen, and I’ll tell you,” Dean blurted out in frustration.
    The Elvana’s smile vanished, and he turned back to look at the ground. “All I did was ask a question. That’s no reason to yell,” he said dejectedly. “I’m not from Heaven, so how am I supposed to know what a France is?”
    “I’m sorry I yelled,” Dean said softly, now upset at himself, seeing how sad Han looked. “It’s just part of my life that I never talk about. It hurts.”
    “Please tell me, and I promise not to interrupt.”
    Dean shrugged. “Well, I got my name in France, like I said. Anyway, what I was told was my parents went to France when I was a baby. They were robbed and killed.” As Dean continued, the Elvana’s frown deepened. “Some French people found me. They knew I was an American, that’s another country in my world. Wow, that still sounds bizarre. They had to give me a name so I could get a visa or something, and they must have liked James Dean, so they named me after him.”
    Han was the first person Dean had ever told the story to, and it made him feel good to share it with someone.
    “That’s so sad,” Han said. “I thought Panadur was your father.”
    “No. My real last name is Walker.” Dean exhaled. “That’s not even right. They gave me a new last name too. I didn’t know Panadur long, but . . . he was more of a father to me than anyone. I was in a couple of foster homes that didn’t work out. I don’t know if the problem was I didn’t want pity or they didn’t offer any. Panadur took me in. I— Do you mind if we stop talking about this right now?” Dean quickly turned away.
    “Sure. We can stop talking about it. We’re making good time, Dean.” The Elvana tried to change the subject. “If we still hurry, I think that we can reach Vinrell—that’s the Dwarven stronghold—by nightfall.”
    Dean’s legs ached at the thought of hurrying. He couldn’t understand