The prairie stretched endlessly around the small settlement near Independence, Kansas. It was a sea of tall grass that rippled like water under the wide, cloud-scattered sky. The horizon seemed impossibly far, and the wind carried the scent of earth and wildflowers.

Y/N had only recently arrived with her family, and everything still felt unfamiliar—the wide-open land, the quiet mornings, and the strange new life they were building.

But Y/N was not with her family by blood. Not entirely. The Ingalls had found her some time before their journey west—a child alone, with no one to claim her and nowhere to go. Charles and Caroline Ingalls, with their quiet kindness and firm belief in doing right by others, had taken her in without hesitation. They treated her as one of their own, and Mary and Laura had accepted her as a sister quickly enough.

It was Laura who most understood Y/N's restlessness. Both girls had a streak of curiosity that often carried them farther than they were meant to go. But on this particular morning, Y/N had wandered off alone—past the edge of the settlement, past the familiar markers, and into the open prairie that seemed to whisper for her to keep going.

The sun was warm on her shoulders. The grass swayed around her, high enough to brush her fingertips. It was beautiful, and for a moment, the strangeness of this new life faded into something like wonder.

Then, a voice cut through the quiet.

Y/N turned. A young Osage man stood a short distance away, arms crossed, dark eyes fixed on her with an expression caught somewhere between suspicion and annoyance. He looked like he'd been following her for a while without making a sound.