{"id":20949,"date":"2022-11-22T06:00:00","date_gmt":"2022-11-22T11:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/?p=20949"},"modified":"2022-11-21T21:33:06","modified_gmt":"2022-11-22T02:33:06","slug":"blog-tour-a-wilderness-of-stars-by-shea-ernshaw-excerpt-giveaway","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/blog-tour-a-wilderness-of-stars-by-shea-ernshaw-excerpt-giveaway\/","title":{"rendered":"Blog Tour: A Wilderness of Stars by Shea Ernshaw (Excerpt + Giveaway!)"},"content":{"rendered":"<p class=\"ubb-blog-tour-banner\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.rockstarbooktours.com\" target=\"_blank\"><img src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/11\/a-wilderness-of-stars-tour-banner.png\" alt=\"Blog Tour: A Wilderness of Stars by Shea Ernshaw (Excerpt + Giveaway!)\"><\/a><\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Happy Tuesday and welcome to my stop on the blog tour for A WILDERNESS OF STARS by Shea Ernshaw! I&#8217;m so excited because today I have an excerpt of the book to share with you! This book is truly amazing and I&#8217;m so excited to for you to find out more about it, PLUS enter for a chance to win a print copy!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<!--more-->\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"850\" height=\"50\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20416\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png 850w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-300x18.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-768x45.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 850px) 100vw, 850px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n<img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/a-wilderness-of-stars-cover.png\" alt=\"Blog Tour: A Wilderness of Stars by Shea Ernshaw (Excerpt + Giveaway!)\" title=\"Blog Tour: A Wilderness of Stars by Shea Ernshaw (Excerpt + Giveaway!)\" class=\"ubb-cover-image alignleft\"><strong>A Wilderness of Stars<\/strong> by <a href=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/reviews\/authors\/shea-ernshaw\/\">Shea Ernshaw<\/a> <br><strong>Published on<\/strong>  November 29, 2022 by <a href=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/reviews\/publishers\/simon-schuster-books-for-young-readers\/\">Simon &amp; Schuster Books for Young Readers<\/a> <br><strong>Genres:<\/strong> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/reviews\/genres\/fantasy\/\">Fantasy<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/reviews\/genres\/romance\/\">Romance<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/reviews\/genres\/ya\/\">YA<\/a> <br><strong>Pages:<\/strong> 400 <br><strong>Add to <\/strong><a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/book\/show\/58438080-a-wilderness-of-stars\" target=\"_blank\">Goodreads<\/a> <br><strong>Author Links:<\/strong> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.sheaernshaw.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Website<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/twitter.com\/sheaernshaw\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Twitter<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/author\/show\/15941035.Shea_Ernshaw\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Goodreads<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3hUhdfY\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Amazon<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/sheaernshaw\/\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Instagram<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/www.pinterest.com\/sheaernshaw\/\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Pinterest<\/a>, <a href=\"https:\/\/www.tiktok.com\/@sheaernshaw\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">TikTok<\/a> <br><blockquote class=\"ubb-synopsis\"><p><b>An illness cursing the land forces a teen girl astronomer to venture across the wilderness in search of the stars\u2019 message that will, hopefully, save them all.<\/b><br \/>\n<i>If magic lives anywhere, it\u2019s in the stars\u2026<\/i><br \/>\nVega has lived in the valley her whole life\u2014forbidden by her mother to leave the safety of its borders because of the unknown threats waiting for her in the wilds beyond. But after her mother dies, and Vega sees the fabled twin stars in the sky, it\u2019s an omen she can no longer ignore, forcing her to leave the protective boundaries of the valley. But the outside world turns out to be much more terrifying than Vega could have imagined. People are gravely sick\u2014they lose their eyesight and their hearing, just before they lose their lives.<br \/>\nWhat Vega keeps to herself is that she is the Last Astronomer\u2014a title carried from generation to generation\u2014and she is the only one who carries the knowledge of the stars. Knowledge that could hold the key to the cure. And so when locals spot the tattoo on Vega\u2019s neck in the shape of a constellation\u2014the mark of an astronomer\u2014chaos erupts as the threats her mother warned her about become all too real.<br \/>\nFearing for her life, Vega is rescued by a girl named Cricket who leads her to Noah, a boy marked by his own mysterious tattoos. On the run from the men who are hunting her, Vega, Cricket, and Noah set out across the plains in search of the cure the stars speak of. But as the lines between friend and protector begin to blur, Vega must decide whether to safeguard the sacred knowledge of the astronomer. Or if she will risk everything to try to save them all.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\t\t<script type=\"application\/ld+json\">\n{\n\t\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\n\t\"@type\":\"Review\",\n\t\"datePublished\": \"2022-11-22T11:00:00+00:00\",\n\t\"description\": \"\\nHappy Tuesday and welcome to my stop on the blog tour for A WILDERNESS OF STARS by Shea Ernshaw! I'm so excited because today I have an excerpt of the book to share with you! This book is truly \",\n\t\"publisher\": {\n\t\t\"@type\": \"Organization\",\n\t\t\"name\": \"Kait Plus Books\"\t},\n\t\"url\": \"https:\\\/\\\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\\\/books\\\/blog-tour-a-wilderness-of-stars-by-shea-ernshaw-excerpt-giveaway\\\/\",\n\t\"itemReviewed\": {\n\t\t\"@type\": \"Book\",\n\t\t\"name\": \"A Wilderness of Stars\",\n\t\t\"author\": {\n\t\t\t\"@type\": \"Person\",\n\t\t\t\"name\": \"Shea Ernshaw\",\n\t\t\t\"sameAs\": \"https:\\\/\\\/www.sheaernshaw.com\\\/\"\t\t},\n\t\t\"isbn\": \"1665900245\"\t},\n\t\"author\": {\n\t\t\"@type\": \"Person\",\n\t\t\"name\": \"Kaity\",\n\t\t\"sameAs\": \"https:\\\/\\\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\\\/books\\\/\"\t},\n\t\"reviewRating\": {\n\t\t\"@type\": \"Rating\",\n\t\t\"ratingValue\": false,\n\t\t\"bestRating\": \"5\"\n\t}\n}\n\n\n\n\t\t<\/script>\n\t\t\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"850\" height=\"50\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20416\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png 850w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-300x18.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-768x45.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 850px) 100vw, 850px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"200\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Read-an-Excerpt-Fall-2022.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20442\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Read-an-Excerpt-Fall-2022.png 1024w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Read-an-Excerpt-Fall-2022-300x59.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Read-an-Excerpt-Fall-2022-768x150.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>ORION, Gamma Ori<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>+06\u00b0 20\u2019 58\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A hundred years ago, the first Astronomer looked up at the night sky and made note of what she saw: horseshoe nebulas and spiral galaxies and dying star clusters. But she did not yet know what lay hidden in the shadowy darkness between stars. She was not a seer, a fortune-teller, as was common in the old world but rarely talked about now. Instead she used the circular glass rings of her telescope to make sense of the dark; she used physics and chemistry and science. She drafted charts and measured distances and sketched formations like Pleiades and Andromeda onto wax paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Maybe if she had believed in fate. If she had listened to her gut\u2014that hollow twisting beneath her lowest ribs\u2014she might have feared what she didn\u2019t understand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She might have known that the shadow concealed more than dust and particles of broken moons.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She would have looked closer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">And seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Chapter One<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mom is dying, and we both know it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She\u2019s been sick for almost a month, the consumption shredding apart her insides, clouding her eyes and making it impossible for her to breathe without an awful rasp.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">On the roof of our small house, I lie flat on my back, breathing in the cool, windless spring air\u2014the night sky a riddle of stars above me\u2014but inside the cabin, through the open window, I can hear Mom dozing fitfully: fever making her sweat and toss and mumble in her sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I press my palms against the roof beneath me, as if I could push away the awful sound, push away the sickness inside her. I count the constellations, naming them in my mind\u2014a ritual that Mom insists I repeat night after night so I won\u2019t forget\u2014and it calms me, the pattern of unaltered stars, their position always right where they should be. Unlike Mom, who is slipping away. Beyond the row of blue spruce trees on the far side of the summer garden, above the valley wall, I trace Clovis and Andromeda with my fingertip. I find Orion, the hunter from Greek mythology, and Rigel, a bright blue-white supergiant shimmering near the horizon. Each one tells a story. Each one has some secret to be shared, if I have the patience to look.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I follow the simple line of Aries, the golden-fleeced ram, my finger making a slight arc through the midnight sky. Sometimes I let myself fall asleep on the roof, to be closer to the stars; sometimes I stay awake all night, searching for something up there that might bring me hope.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I search for something that isn\u2019t there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">An owl lets out a low, somber cry from the toolshed; the wind slides across the roof, stirring my long, dark hair, curled slightly at the ends, sending gooseflesh across my scarred, copper skin. And I wonder if it\u2019s all for nothing. All the knowledge I keep safe inside me\u2014patterns and sequences and the names of constellations\u2014all of it useless if I never leave these valley walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Heat rises behind my eyes, but I push it down, counting the stars of Leo,&nbsp;<em>the lion<\/em>, killed by Hercules with his bare hands and placed in the sky. Stories threaded and stitched in the starlight. But I wonder what stories will be told about me:&nbsp;<em>The girl who stayed safe in her valley. Who never left. Who died like her mother, taking all her knowledge with her.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I wipe at my eyes, hating the tears, willing the stars to show me something\u2014<em>begging<\/em>. But the sky sits just as it always has\u2014unaltered, unchanged\u2014and I know I\u2019ve been forgotten by the stars, by the ancient gods.&nbsp;<em>Abandoned<\/em>. They do not see me as I see them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I press a hand to my ear, a soft ringing in my eardrum, an ache so small that it\u2019s hardly there\u2014<em>scratch, scratch,&nbsp;<\/em>like an insect in my skull\u2014but when I swing my gaze back to the sky, blinking away the wetness, a thin, rainless cloud slides along the valley walls, pushing north . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">And something catches my eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Tiny.&nbsp;<\/em>Flickering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In the darkness, in the space between stars . . .<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A light.&nbsp;<em>Small at first<\/em>. Where none should be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">To the east.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I scramble to my feet, tugging my sweater close across my chest, squinting up at the unusual light.&nbsp;<em>Light that shouldn\u2019t be there.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">It glows a shimmering whiteness, but its position in the sky makes no sense. I blink and recenter my gaze\u2014as Mom taught me\u2014but when I scan the horizon, it\u2019s still there.&nbsp;<em>There.&nbsp;<\/em>Only a flicker at first\u2014like a dying ember in a campfire\u2014but after a moment it grows brighter, rising above the treetops.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Not a falling star.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Not a comet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Something larger. A shiver skips up into my throat\u2014a knowing\u2014like the telltale scent of moisture in the air, hours before a single raindrop has fallen from the sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I\u2019ve stared at this patch of horizon countless times, and seen nothing: only darkness and tiny pine-needle pricks of ordinary starlight. But when I rub my palms against the hollows of my eyes, then look again to the east . . . I find it.<em>&nbsp;Still there<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A star . . . where no star had been the night before.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">My heart begins to ram against my rib cage, thoughts crashing and tumbling over one another, wanting to be sure. And then I see it: the star isn\u2019t alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">There are&nbsp;<em>two<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">One fainter than the other, smaller, but they rest side by side: twin stars shivering an amber light from the middle of our galaxy. And as they rise higher above the horizon, they appear so close, it feels as if I can almost reach up and pluck them down, hold them in my palm like an August firefly, golden and pulsing, then carry them inside to show Mom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Two delicate orbs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Them<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A hum of excitement and disbelief vibrates up into my chest, behind my eyes, and I swing myself down from the roof, perching my foot against the wooden post, then landing on the front porch with a&nbsp;<em>thud<\/em>\u2014something I\u2019ve done hundreds of times\u2014then dart through the front door into the cabin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A fire still burns in the stone fireplace, the scent of cloves and rosemary heavy in the air from the herbs drying above the fire, and I drop to the floor beside Mom\u2019s bed, taking her skeletal hand in mine. My fingers tremble, and her eyes flit open, damp and bloodshot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI saw them,\u201d I say softly, voice catching on each letter, as if I might choke on them. \u201cOn the eastern horizon . . . two twin stars.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mom\u2019s eyes struggle to blink, her skin the color of sun-bleached bones, but her hair is still long and dark and wavy at the ends. Freckles sit scattered across her nose, and her mouth is the same shape as mine, like a bow tied from rope. I see myself in her\u2014but she has always been braver, fearless, mightier than a winter storm. And I worry that the things that bind me to her, to our ancestors, don\u2019t live as strong in my bloodstream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But now, as I stare down at her, she is half the woman she once was, weak and addled with sickness. And I\u2019m afraid of what\u2019s to come.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She tries to push herself up, to crane her head to the window\u2014she wants to see the stars for herself\u2014but her elbows buckle and her dust-thin body falls back to the mattress, teeth rattling. I place a cold cloth, dampened with river water, on her forehead to wipe away the sweat. \u201cAre they\u2014\u201d She coughs, pinches her eyes closed, starts again. \u201c\u2014in alignment with the pole star?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I nod, tears dripping from my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSister stars,\u201d she mutters, a small twitch at the corners of her pale mouth\u2014an almost smile\u2014something she hasn\u2019t done in weeks. \u201cIt\u2019s time.\u201d She squeezes my hand and her eyelashes flutter, her sight almost lost completely. She only sees shadows now, waves of dark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWe can leave in the morning,\u201d I answer, my nerves like fire in my veins\u2014<em>we will finally be leaving the valley.&nbsp;<\/em>I<em>&nbsp;<\/em>will finally be going beyond its sheer cliff walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But she shakes her head and swallows. \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A small fire burns in the fireplace, but the cold night air still catches at the back of my throat. I already understand what she means: I can see it in the dampness of her eyes, the tight pinch of her mouth.&nbsp;<em>She<\/em>&nbsp;will not be leaving the cabin. Or the valley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She wants me to go alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI can help you to walk,\u201d I urge, feeling the anxiety clotting in my chest like mud. We will go together, like we\u2019ve always planned. She and I. Venturing beyond the valley walls at last.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But she only blinks, tears rolling down her cheekbones. \u201cI\u2019ll be too slow.\u201d She coughs and clutches a hand to her trembling mouth, and more tears fall from her chin. \u201cYou already know everything,\u201d she whispers, eyes straining to see me through the winter fog of her vision. \u201cYou don\u2019t need me.\u201d Her eyes flutter. \u201cGo to the ocean,\u201d she instructs, words I already know, that she has told me so many times, they are like a song in my ears, repeating, repeating, without end. \u201cFind the Architect. Don\u2019t look back, Vega.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I grip her hand tighter, as if I can already feel the miles, the space widening between us. \u201cI\u2019m not leaving you here.\u201d She won\u2019t be able to bring up water from the river or even pull herself out of bed. If I leave, she\u2019ll die quickly. Of thirst and pain. She\u2019ll die alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Her jaw clenches along her cheekbones, and I can see the woman she once was: strong, toughened by the land, by the years, some of that fight still left in her. \u201cThere\u2019s no time,\u201d she says forcefully, straining against the words before sinking back against her pillow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I lift my eyes, wet with tears, to the window, where the twin stars hover against the dark. I know she\u2019s right. Time is already slipping away, hour by hour\u2014the twin stars won\u2019t be visible forever. Days from now, they will arch away, out of sight, and it will be too late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Another hundred years before they come into alignment again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I think Mom knows I won\u2019t leave her, senses I won\u2019t let her die alone in the cold of the cabin. She knows I\u2019ll stay as long as she\u2019s alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Because in two days\u2019 time, the evening after a rainstorm drenches the valley, she lets the consumption tear apart the last of her lungs, her heart, her eyes.&nbsp;<em>She stops fighting.<\/em>&nbsp;\u201cLeave the valley, Vega . . . ,\u201d she sputters near the end, fingers twitching, then mumbles something about black feathers falling from the sky, birds dropping to their death\u2014fevered words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I brush the dark hair from her face, feeling like my own heart is about to give out, and I watch her features pinch tight, freckles massing together on her forehead while the sunset burns sapphire and pale and colorless through the small cabin windows. At last I hear the air leave her lungs. Feel the slack in her hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">And just like that, she\u2019s gone.&nbsp;<em>A soundless letting go.<\/em>&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She gave up. She let herself die.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">To make sure I\u2019d leave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>To make sure I\u2019d live.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I bury my mother before the morning sunlight breaks through the treetops and sparks across the blades of grass. I do it swiftly, before her body has time to stiffen, wrapping her gently in the cornflower-blue bedsheet, then stitching it closed with a needle and thread. I carry her down the hill from the old cabin and place her in the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">For a moment, I feel like I might be sick, the dimmed night sky whirling and tilting above me, but I stumble the five paces from her grave down to the river\u2019s edge and wade in up to my knees, feeling the strength of Medicine Bow River carving its slow, ancient path through our protected valley, walled in on two sides.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I know what I have to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The stories of my ancestors like a ticking clock against the soft place at my temples.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In the cold river, I scrub away the dirt from my hands, my fingernails, wishing I could strip away the hurt rupturing inside me like a dying star. But it\u2019s marrow-deep, cut into me now. I take another step toward the fast-moving center of the river, the water glacier-cold and deep, and I dig my toes into the gravelly river bottom, feeling the weight of the planet beneath me, anchoring me so I don\u2019t drift away.&nbsp;<em>Without gravity, we\u2019d all float up into the stars light as dove feathers,<\/em>&nbsp;Mom would say. We\u2019d spend nights out here beside the river, peering through her telescope\u2014the one she built herself with plates of glass fastened at perfectly measured angles. She\u2019d tell me to recite the names of constellations and orbiting moons and comets always breaking through our atmosphere in dazzling trails of light.&nbsp;<em>You need to know the sky as well as the valley; you need to be able to chart a course using only the stars to navigate,<\/em>&nbsp;she\u2019d explain. She taught me the shape and structure of the night sky. She made sure I\u2019d never forget, even after she was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">With my shaking hand, I reach toward the moonlight, freckles making a pattern from my thumb all the way up along my forearm, and I try to see her in my own skin\u2014I am made of her, after all. The same cells and atoms, blood of my blood. But it isn\u2019t enough. She was brown eyes flecked with green, fingernails always cut short, dirt pressed into the creases of her knuckles. She was both the soil and the sky, a kaleidoscope of parts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">My knees give out and I sink into the icy water, sitting cross-legged on the river bottom, water up to my throat, tears shedding down my cheeks. The cold could kill me; the roaring current could drown me. But I don\u2019t feel any of it. I tilt my head back while tears break against my eyelids, and in the pale twilight sky, I find the southern pole star, dim and flickering just above the treetops\u2014the navigational point that will always guide me home, no matter where I am, the star that connects all the others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThe sky belongs to you now,\u201d Mom had whispered right at the end, fighting to keep her eyes open, coughing and then spitting up blood. But even the anatomy of stars are woven with memories of her.&nbsp;<em>It\u2019s all her.<\/em>&nbsp;This valley and the cliff walls and the starlight that drapes over me like a ruthless, unmerciful hand. But through the awful blur of tears, I find the twin stars again\u2014Tova and Llitha\u2014sister stars, caught in their own kind of gravity. Bound to each other. The old folklore stories say the sisters were banished to the night sky by their father after they refused to marry two underworld princes. Now they are two points of light hovering in the east. Whispering their ancient words, summoning me closer\u2014to a place beyond the valley where I\u2019ve never been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">To an ocean, at the edge of everything, across forbidden land.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">All my life, Mom had warned of the world outside our valley\u2014<em>it\u2019s dangerous and cruel,<\/em>&nbsp;she would say.&nbsp;<em>But we are safe here, far from it all<\/em>. We remained in our isolated valley, studying the sky, marking our charts and maps, where no one knows our names . . . or who we are descended from.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But now she\u2019s gone and the twin stars gleam in the night sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Now . . . I have to leave, travel to a place where my ancestors have never been. As if it were that easy. As if my legs could carry me beyond this valley when they can barely carry me back up to the cabin from the river.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">My body shakes, hands milk-white and numb, and I push myself up from the water\u2014my long cotton nightdress clinging to my skin, the front hem stained with dark, ruddy soil from digging. It will need to be scrubbed, set to soak. Or maybe I\u2019ll just burn it, bury it, leave it behind. What use will it be out there, anyway. Beyond the walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I stagger back up to the shore, arms hanging wet and limp at my sides, and collapse onto the grass. The night sinks away, and the sun begins to rise, bright and terrible and unforgiving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I could walk the day\u2019s journey to Mr. and Mrs. Horace\u2019s place\u2014our closest neighbor, our only neighbor\u2014and tell them Mom has died. I could sit at their kitchen table while Mrs. Horace brings me flattened corn cakes and hot tea, then touches me with her worrying hands, straightening the hem of my shirtsleeves, fussing with my long, coiled hair. Mr. Horace will stand at the door as if there were some way to set this right with nails and hewn boards\u2014the only remedy he knows. But they would not want me to leave the valley.&nbsp;<em>A girl of only seventeen shouldn\u2019t be on her own,<\/em>&nbsp;I imagine Mrs. Horace saying. They will insist I stay with them, sleep in the narrow loft of their timber house. They\u2019re good people, but I cannot make a life among their stock of goats and cattle and dogs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I rub my hand across the back of my neck, searching for a reminder\u2014for courage\u2014and I feel the smooth skin that is marked by ink. I can\u2019t see it, but I know it\u2019s there\u2014Mom had the same mark, a tattoo that assures me of who I am: my mother\u2019s daughter. Linked, bound to each other even after her death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>You\u2019re descended from brave women,<\/em>&nbsp;she used to tell me, as if she knew someday it would come to this. I scrub at the corners of my eyes, not wanting to feel the tears, when a flock of starlings tear away from the sagging oaks near the riverbank.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Something\u2019s startled them<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">They screech angrily, wings beating away toward the west, but in between the sound . . . I hear the distinct thud of hooves against the hard ground of the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I turn, gazing up the hill, where the road winds along the valley, and a plume of dust furls into the air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Someone<\/em>&nbsp;is coming up the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">My eyes flash to the cabin, body still shaking from the cold of the river. I could run up the hill and duck inside, feel into the top chest of drawers for the old revolver Mom kept hidden there, load it like she taught me, then wait at the window with the barrel pointed up the road. Or I could hide. The tree line is only a few paces from the river; I could be inside the sparse oaks within a few seconds. I could make my way up the ridge to the Horaces\u2019 place and be there by sundown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But instead my legs don\u2019t move. My insides too numb, my chest too heart-shattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The sound of a horse, of a wagon, rattles up the road, vibrating at every stone and divot, echoing up across the valley, becoming its own kind of disjointed birdsong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I lift a hand over my eyes, straining to see, lungs stilled\u2014the cold writhing down my joints\u2014and when the horse appears over the last rise, drawing the old box wagon behind it, I let out a long, shaky breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Salty lines of tears spill down my face, the relief sudden and heavy in my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">After almost a month away, Pa is home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">We stand over Mom\u2019s grave\u2014my hair dripping with river water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI\u2019m sorry I wasn\u2019t here,\u201d Pa manages, kneeling down to rest a sun-darkened hand against the dirt. His chin dips, reddish-brown beard quivering, and he wipes at the corners of his eyes, catching the tears before they fall. I look away, not wanting to see the pain in his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cShe\u2019s been sick since you left,\u201d I tell him, biting back the sob waiting at the top of my rib cage, the hurt like floodwaters inside me, almost too big to contain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Pa nods at the dark soil, the morning wind singing through the cattail reeds beside the river. \u201cNothing you could have done.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">We stand this way for a time\u2014silent, staring at the place where her body now rests\u2014as if each of us is cycling through our own pain. Finding ways to tuck it away. Pa is a quiet man, more comfortable with uncrowded roads and the silence of an evening spent alone, than with consoling words. An owl lets out a somber cry from the woodshed, just as the sun breaks through the trees, inching higher in the sky. And at last Pa pushes himself up, knees creaking, eyes still damp at the corners, and we start back for the house, each of us silent. I can meet Pa\u2019s stride now, nearly as tall as him, legs like reeds and arms swinging at my sides.&nbsp;<em>Almost as tall as a tree<\/em>, Mom liked to say, braiding my oak-brown hair down my back, her fingers brushing the dark ink of the tattoo at my neck\u2014the tattoo she gave me years ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">At the cabin, Pa lights his pipe and eases himself into one of the porch chairs\u2014chairs he himself made when I was small. I still remember the smell of wood shavings, mottled dust, a sweet nutty scent. Normally, when Pa returns to the valley, I ask him to tell me a story from the&nbsp;<em>outside<\/em>,<em>&nbsp;<\/em>about distant towns and foreign people and the unusual places he\u2019s seen: two-story buildings and deep, calm lakes as warm as bathwater and strangers with eyes as blue as the June sky. They are good stories, tales I sometimes think can\u2019t be entirely true\u2014Pa\u2019s cheeks grinning, eyes shimmering with some faraway memory. My knowledge of the world has been shaped by Pa\u2019s stories. And also by Mom\u2019s warnings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But I don\u2019t ask for a story now\u2014I ask something else. \u201cWhere will you go, after here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">It\u2019s been nearly a month since he was last in the valley\u2014when the snow still insulated the ground and hung from the eaves of the old cabin\u2014but now spring has crept in over the land, turning it green and soft, the approaching of a gentler season: long, sunlit days, crisp carrots from the ground, frogs singing from the mucky banks of the river in the evening. Something I won\u2019t be here to see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNorth,\u201d he answers, his tired, creased eyes focused out over the valley, to the slow-moving river winking under the morning sun. \u201cTo the market.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhen will you leave?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cTomorrow.\u201d He releases a puff of tobacco smoke into the air. \u201cI need to be back on the road in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Beside the porch railing, I run a hand down Odie\u2019s neck\u2014Pa\u2019s mare, a black-and-white appaloosa who has found a patch of clover sprouting up in the shade of the porch deck. Pa never hobbles her with leather straps around her ankles, or ties her to a tree when he\u2019s here. He says she has no reason to wander; all the good pasture is near the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHow far away is it?\u201d I knit my fingers through Odie\u2019s coarse mane, then down to her black velvet nose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cA week\u2019s journey, maybe a few days more. Depends on the roads.\u201d Smoke puffs from Pa\u2019s nose, wheeling up into the night sky, and he touches the wiry strands of his beard, his mustache.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I cut my eyes away to his wagon\u2014sitting near the shed\u2014with its tall wooden sides and flat top. Painted along the wood slats are black, swooping letters\u2014much more elaborate than the straight, perpendicular letters that Mom taught me to write when I was younger. But the words on Pa\u2019s wagon are meant to draw people near, to catch their eyes, to entice them to trade a coin or two for what he sells inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Pa\u2019s Cure-All Tonic Elixir,<\/em>&nbsp;it reads, and a small blue medicine bottle has been painted beside the words with silver stars erupting from the top. Beneath this is a list of the ailments that Pa\u2019s tonic will cure:&nbsp;<em>headache, heartache, cough, fever, hair loss, tooth loss, arthritis, lethargy, dizziness, sleeplessness, drunkenness, toe aches, warts.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I shift my gaze back to Pa, his eyes drowsy and distant. I think of summers past when Mom and Pa and I would sit on the porch and watch the sun fade while we peeled baskets of peas and listened to Pa\u2019s stories. A time lost to us now. I clear my throat, stuffing down the tears. \u201cI\u2019m coming with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But Pa immediately shakes his head, not even considering it. \u201cThe road isn\u2019t a safe place for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I lower my hand from Odie\u2019s muzzle. I know Pa doesn\u2019t understand why I need to leave. He doesn\u2019t know the stories that Mom whispered to me at night when he was away.&nbsp;<em>The women in our family have kept our secrets for a hundred years,&nbsp;<\/em>she would tell me softly, as if she didn\u2019t even want the stars to hear.&nbsp;<em>They are dangerous secrets; they put us at risk. So we keep them to ourselves.<\/em>&nbsp;\u201cI\u2019m stronger than I look,\u201d I say, shoulders straightening back, my left hand scraping along my neck, fingers tracing the tattoo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Pa\u2019s brow tugs downward as he eyes me, his expression hidden beneath the wiry strands of his overgrown beard. \u201cNo,\u201d he answers sharply. \u201cYou need to stay in the valley, where you\u2019re protected.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMom wanted me to leave\u2014\u201d I say, clenching my teeth. Mom and I spent most of our life in the valley alone\u2014the two of us with our stories and constellations and a language only we understood\u2014while Pa spent his life out on the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He removes the pipe from his mouth, exhaling, a softness to his eyes\u2014a sadness\u2014like he understands the need I feel, but he thinks I\u2019m being foolish. A girl who doesn\u2019t know what she\u2019s asking for. \u201cYour mother has taught you many things, but she hasn\u2019t prepared you for what\u2019s out there.\u201d He taps the toe of his dusty-brown boot against the worn boards of the deck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I turn away from him, feeling the threat of tears against my eyelids, and lift my eyes to the sky\u2014to the place in the east where I saw the twin stars, now lost to the morning sunlight. The owl, who had been perched on the woodshed, extends its broad winds, and tears away over the river, beyond the valley walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI\u2019ll go on my own,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou don\u2019t have a horse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI\u2019ll walk.\u201d I had planned on walking anyway, marching out of the valley on foot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He exhales through his nose, eyes clicking up the road. \u201cIt\u2019ll take you a week just to reach the nearest outpost. And your feet will be raw as hide by then, blistered down to the bone.\u201d There is a growl in his voice, a grittiness, as though he\u2019s recalling the harsh, unending stretch of roads beyond the valley. Recalling long, hot days when he pushed the wagon on, exhausted, throat coated in dust. And he doesn\u2019t wish the same for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I kick at a small rock and it skitters under the porch. Odie lifts her head, wide-eyed, before resuming her methodical chewing of the clover and bunchgrass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Pa rests the stem of the old pipe at the corner of his mouth, mustache twitching, the fragrant smoke\u2014cloves and cinnamon\u2014coiling up into the rafters of the porch roof. \u201cIt\u2019s easy to think the world beyond what we know is better than what we have, but trust me, Vega, your life here is safer than anything out there.\u201d He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, gazing out at the road\u2014this day has already worn him thin, down to bone. \u201cShe kept you isolated here for a reason.\u201d He tamps out the tobacco in his pipe onto the rough boards of the deck, letting the burnt leaves fall between the cracks, then stands up. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Vega, I can\u2019t take you with me.\u201d He gives me a quick nod, his shoulders bent forward, bearing the grief of Mom\u2019s death heavy in his tired frame, and before I can say anything else, before I can protest, he walks down the porch steps and strides out toward the river, toward Mom\u2019s grave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">My heart should sink\u2014I should feel the hard slam of despair and hopelessness landing in my gut. But instead I feel something else: a new story weaving itself together like starlight along the dark night of my skin. The story of what comes next.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">What I have to do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Pa is asleep in his wagon, nighttime once again folded over the valley, and Odie stands beside the porch, head dipped low, huge eyelashes twitching softly like reeds of grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I press my fingertips to the glass beside Mom\u2019s empty bed, nervously counting the constellations out of habit, reciting them in my mind: Crux, Perseus, Leo Minor, and even Cepheus\u2014a broad formation of stars that has always looked like a bow and arrow to me, even though Mom said it was named after the mythical king Cepheus, husband to Cassiopeia, father of Andromeda. My reflection peers back in the glass, the swooped shape of my nose, my ears set low, skin like amber\u2014it\u2019s all her. Reminders of Mom everywhere. Through my reflection, I stare out at the twin stars to the east, like lanterns burning in the sky. My ancestors spent their life waiting for them to appear\u2014Tova and Llitha\u2014for a sign that it was time to leave the valley. They watched the sky each night, studied it, and waited. A hundred years have passed since the twin stars last swung this far on their orbit across their galaxy, and found themselves close enough for us to see.&nbsp;<em>A rare event<\/em>. One that almost seems impossible\u2014one I started to think might never happen. Only a folktale passed down by the women in my family, a story that had lost all meaning. But the stories were right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">And at last the waiting has ended with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I drop my hand from the window, my fingerprints left on the glass\u2014the last part of myself I will leave behind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I already know what I will do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I move through the house, gathering a loaf of bread and hard biscuits, preserved blackberries in glass jars that clink and rattle in the burlap sack. I eye the shelf of books near the fireplace: an old book of Scottish poems, a wild foraging cookbook, and several about astronomy. Mom said books were rare, hard to come by. But I know the astronomy books by heart, their pages useless to me now, and I have no need for the others beyond the walls of the house. So I leave them all behind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I pull my favorite sweater over my head, the color of wheat and flax\u2014the one Mom has mended dozens of times over the years, the one that once belonged to her, and her mother before her\u2014then grab my gray canvas coat from the hook by the door. I fold the quilt from Mom\u2019s bed, tucking it under my arm, then pick up the lit candle. My lungs breathe heavy, doubt scratching at my skull. I can still feel her within these walls where I drew my first breath: where I learned to chart the stars, to read while sitting at the small wood table pressed against the corner, where Mom and I have carved our names into the low bench\u2014like the white heron stacks pebbles beside the river to mark its territory, to warn other birds that this is its home. Mom taught me how to survive, to make fire and cut my own hair and mend my own shirts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But I have to do this\u2014it has to be absolute; otherwise I might change my mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I need there to be nothing left to return to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I lower the candle to one of Mom\u2019s pillows, and the flame catches instantly. It springs across the sheets to the curtains, igniting on the pile of stacked firewood beside the stove. It lunges up the log walls, turning hot and ashy in minutes. How voracious fire is. How unstoppable. It destroys without thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">With the burlap sack over my shoulder, I shove my feet into my boots, not bothering to lace them, and walk out onto the front porch, feeling the flames growing hot and angry behind me. Like something coming alive, devouring my childhood, my entire life in this cabin. Leaving nothing. I fight the urge to run to the river with a pail and bring back buckets of water, dousing the flames.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>There\u2019s no turning back now<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The sky is still dark, a belt of clustered stars running from north to south. But when I lower my gaze back to the wagon, Pa is awake, a hand held over his brow. Odie has backstepped away from the porch railing, dust rising around her hooves, ears jumping forward and back, frightened of the snapping flames.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cVega . . .\u201d Pa peers past me at the cabin, at the flames now licking through the doorway. \u201cWhat did you do?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Bravery is not summoned overnight; it takes several almost moments until the one that finally sparks a need bright enough that you\u2019re willing to burn your old life to the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMy home is gone\u2014\u201d I say down to him from the edge of the porch. \u201cI should probably go with you now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">My name\u2014Vega\u2014means&nbsp;<em>dweller in the<\/em>&nbsp;<em>meadow.<\/em>&nbsp;Mom would say that my name was a reminder that this valley was my home, that I was safe here, like a bird tucked into the cavity of its nest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But with smoke curling up into the dawn sky behind me, flames chewing apart the cabin where I was born, I leave the valley behind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">For most of my life, I have feared the unnamable longing that has pricked at me like a briar caught in wool\u2014a curiosity about what lay beyond the valley.&nbsp;<em>The world out there is wild and savage and unkind,<\/em>&nbsp;Mom would tell me, eyes trained up the road.<em>&nbsp;We won\u2019t leave until it\u2019s time.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Low, mangy oaks dig their pointed limbs into the side of the wagon, shrieking against the wood, but Pa coaxes Odie on with a soft click of his tongue. In the back of the wagon, the glass jars filled with Pa\u2019s tonic rattle a constant chorus of&nbsp;<em>clink<\/em>s and&nbsp;<em>clang<\/em>s\u2014a sweet smell emanating from the wood crates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The valley walls shrink away around us, and we emerge into the flat rangeland rolling out endlessly into the distance\u2014a stretch of road dotted with bull snakes and dry scrub brush and rocky terrain known to hobble good horses. But this view isn\u2019t new\u2014I\u2019ve seen it before, when Mom and I would make the rare trek to the Horaces\u2019\u2014though this time it\u2019s a length of land that I\u2019m not merely seeing from a distance, but that I will be entering into. My chest feels tight, anxious, but I refuse to glance over my shoulder and see the smoldering embers of the cabin behind us. I\u2019ve made my decision.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Don\u2019t look back,<\/em>&nbsp;Mom told me once.&nbsp;<em>You\u2019re not going that way.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">We slip free of the crowded oaks, and the sun becomes a scowling eye, bright and watchful. I wish we were traveling at night so I could see the stars, the comfort they bring, the reminder that no matter how far I travel, I can always use them to chart my way back to the valley.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">We pass the Horaces\u2019\u2014a modest farmhouse set back between four shaded elm trees, with a low creek running through the land behind it. The barn is another forty yards beyond the creek, and the Horaces\u2019 livestock of goats and sheep and cattle have gathered near the fence, watching us. Odie slows her gait, head craned toward them, but Pa snaps the reins to prod her forward. My body vibrates, a wave of nausea rising in my belly\u2014I\u2019m now farther beyond the valley than I\u2019ve ever been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Pa makes a grumbling sound, low and disapproving: He thinks this is a bad idea, taking me with him, letting me leave the valley. But he stays quiet. Maybe he knows there are reasons tucked inside me that he doesn\u2019t understand\u2014the whispered words shared only between Mom and me. Or maybe he can\u2019t bear to leave me in the burnt-out remains of the cabin. So we travel in silence across the open plains while the hours tick by, the sound of the creaking wagon becoming an ache in my ears, watching birds fly in slow patterns overhead, crows and ravens out looking for unfortunate field mice and jackrabbits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">It\u2019s stark, unwelcoming land, and I push down the knot tightening in my stomach the farther we travel from the valley. From Mom buried in the ground. From everything I\u2019ve ever known.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Because I don\u2019t have a choice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When we finally leave the long expanse of rangeland and move into the clotted hills, it\u2019s well after dark. A coyote lopes through the elms beside us, fur the color of gunmetal, paws thrumming against the soft earth. It follows us for a time, eyes darting at me as if in warning.&nbsp;<em>Turn back,<\/em>&nbsp;it cautions with its golden eyes, before it finally slips back into the briars and woodland.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">It must be near midnight when we emerge through the scraggly oaks and Pa slows the wagon. \u201cIt\u2019s called Soda Creek,\u201d he says, nodding ahead at the barren wash, not even a trickle down the center. \u201cIt ain\u2019t much now, but in a week or so, it\u2019ll be flooded from spring rains. Muddy and violent, not safe to cross. We came just in time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Pa urges Odie through the low, dry channel and up the other side, the wagon cutting back into the trees along a shallow ridge. My eyes have grown heavy, my throat dry from the dust, and I crave sleep with the same sort of immediacy I used to crave the cool river on an unbearably hot summer day. The wagon heaves up the last rise, and we find ourselves atop a ridge, overlooking a long, open prairie. Pa pulls Odie to a halt. \u201cWe\u2019ll camp here tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cShouldn\u2019t we keep going?\u201d I press, not wanting to stop. Every hour a hammer in my eardrum, knowing there are so few left.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIt\u2019s not safe to travel at night.\u201d He lumbers down to the ground and begins unhitching Odie from the harness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ahead of us, I can see all the way down to the valley beyond\u2014a long stretch of grassland framed by more hills in the distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">And situated in that prairie landscape is a town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I lie folded in Mom\u2019s quilt watching sparks from the campfire pirouette up among the stars, comforted by the unaltered arrangement of the night sky, the placement of the Milky Way and star clusters exactly where they should be\u2014while the dry, sparse landscape around me feels entirely foreign, smelling of strange plants and far-off winds. Just beyond the firelight, I can hear creatures moving among the dark, the flash of their eyes through the low oak trees. An eerie, ghostly feeling against my skin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Even though sleep tugs at me, and I crave a long night\u2019s rest, I worry that we\u2019re traveling too slow. It took us an entire day, and we\u2019ve only just reached the outskirts of a town in the distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>How long will it take me to find the Architect?<\/em>&nbsp;Days? A week? A man I\u2019ve never met. He could be anywhere. Impossible to find if he\u2019s in hiding, if he doesn\u2019t want to be found. He might even be dead. But Mom always assured me that if one Architect died, there would be another to take his place. The lineage would never be lost. Just as she taught me the stories of our past to ensure they wouldn\u2019t be forgotten, the Architect would do the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Somewhere out there is an Architect\u2014and he will know the way to the sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I just need to find him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Briefly I let my fingers stray to the back of my neck, tracing the lines of the tattoo, then drop my hand back to my lap and continue counting the stars above me, marking their names in my mind. \u201cYou can see Bellatrix tonight,\u201d I say softly to Pa, pointing a finger to the west, just above the treetops. \u201cIt\u2019s the third-brightest star in the Orion constellation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Pa lifts his head from the campfire, where he\u2019s placed a cast-iron pot filled with water and dried pinto beans to boil, and looks up at the sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201c<em>Bellatrix<\/em>&nbsp;means&nbsp;<em>female warrior<\/em>,\u201d I add, lowering my hand. \u201cSome stars are easier to locate, like Orion\u2019s belt or the pole star. But Mom said you have to observe all the constellations if you want to know the full story.\u201d&nbsp;<em>From a single point in the sky<\/em>,<em>&nbsp;you should be able to map the rest of the universe.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Pa makes a paltry sound, like he doesn\u2019t want to think about Mom, the grief tucked away in his barrel chest. Maybe he feels guilty he wasn\u2019t there when it happened, knelt beside her bed, a hand to her pale, hollowed cheek, a chance to say goodbye. But he has never been a constant in our lives\u2014he is like the wandering coyote, better suited for long, dusty roads than a life within permanent walls, only stopping in the valley every month or so, when his route brings him close. Yet it\u2019s also what I admire, envy, about him: his freedom, the ease with which he comes and goes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">His life wasn\u2019t built around Mom\u2014not like mine was. He didn\u2019t wake each morning to the soft murmur of her recounting the mass and luminosity of stars, or fall asleep to the sound of her laugh, deep and forceful like a man\u2019s\u2014that I swear made the slatted roof of the cabin tremble like she was the winter wind itself. She had a gravity about her, and she was more complex\u2014like a series of strange, unending riddles\u2014than Pa will ever know.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He dips his head and resumes stirring the pinto beans, adding a little salt and unknown herbs. Odie wanders among the oaks, nibbling on bunchgrass, tail swishing through the night air. \u201cWhen we reach the next town,\u201d he says, eyes still low, \u201cdon\u2019t talk about this to anyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cAbout what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThe stars, constellations, all the things your mom taught you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">My eyes trace the carefully stitched seams of Mom\u2019s quilt\u2014a blanket that was once her mother\u2019s, passed down to her after Grandma died. And now it belongs to me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThey won\u2019t understand,\u201d he adds, flashing me a look to be sure I\u2019ve heard him, that I understand. Like he\u2019s still considering taking me back to the valley and leaving me there, letting me sleep in the smoldering ash of the cabin. Where I\u2019d be safe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI know.\u201d My mouth flattens, a stone rolling around in my chest. I grew up discussing the geography of stars every evening\u2014the row of planets in our solar system, the constellations that spun across the axis of our sky each night\u2014knowledge that Mom was carving into my bones, into my mind, because it needed to be remembered. But out here, she warned, our knowledge means something else. It threatens to unearth a past that some would like to remain hidden\u2014forgotten. While others covet it in a way that makes my very existence dangerous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Again, the nagging fear creeps up inside me, the old warnings scratching at my insides, telling me that I shouldn\u2019t have left the valley, I shouldn\u2019t be out here in the wild of this unprotected terrain. But I don\u2019t say any of this to Pa\u2014I\u2019ll reveal no weakness to him, the doubt that keeps wanting to surface as I peer out into the dark of the forest surrounding us. I keep it tucked inside me. Unspoken.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">After we eat, I lie on my side, the quilt tucked up to my chin, and I stare out through the clearing to the small town beyond. There are no lights, no stirring noises in the distance, only the rooflines visible against the dark horizon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I\u2019ve never seen a town, but I\u2019ve imagined the way homes might sit crowded together, people living side by side, neighbors only a few steps away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The fire sputters beside me as Pa snores, but an anxious knot twists and contorts inside my gut, making it impossible to sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">What if I can\u2019t find the Architect in time? What if I\u2019m too late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<h6 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Excerpt from Shea Ernshaw\u2019s&nbsp;<\/strong><strong><em>A Wilderness of Stars<\/em><\/strong><strong>&nbsp;reprinted with permission from Simon &amp; Schuster Books for Young Readers. Excerpt originally posted on <\/strong><a href=\"https:\/\/gizmodo.com\/shea-earnshaw-wilderness-of-stars-excerpt-1848500644\"><strong>Gizmodo.com<\/strong><\/a><\/h6>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"850\" height=\"50\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20416\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png 850w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-300x18.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-768x45.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 850px) 100vw, 850px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"200\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/About-the-Author-Fall-2022.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20425\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/About-the-Author-Fall-2022.png 1024w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/About-the-Author-Fall-2022-300x59.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/About-the-Author-Fall-2022-768x150.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"ubb-about-author\"><h3>About Shea Ernshaw<\/h3><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/11\/Shea-Ernshaw-Photograph-by-Sky-Pinnick-350x350.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"alignleft ubb-about-author-photo\"><p>Shea Ernshaw is a NYT bestselling author and winner of the Oregon Book Award. Her books have been published in over nineteen countries, and her novels A History of Wild Places, The Wicked Deep, and Winterwood were Indie Next Picks. She lives in a small mountain town in Oregon, and is happiest when lost in a good book, lost in the woods, or writing her next novel.<\/p>\n<p class=\"ubb-author-links\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.sheaernshaw.com\/\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Website<\/a> | <a href=\"https:\/\/twitter.com\/sheaernshaw\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Twitter<\/a> | <a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/author\/show\/15941035.Shea_Ernshaw\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Goodreads<\/a> | <a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/3hUhdfY\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Amazon<\/a> | <a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/sheaernshaw\/\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Instagram<\/a> | <a href=\"https:\/\/www.pinterest.com\/sheaernshaw\/\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">Pinterest<\/a> | <a href=\"https:\/\/www.tiktok.com\/@sheaernshaw\" target=\"_blank\" class=\"\">TikTok<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"850\" height=\"50\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20416\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png 850w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-300x18.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-768x45.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 850px) 100vw, 850px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"200\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Follow-the-Blog-Tour-Fall-2022.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20428\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Follow-the-Blog-Tour-Fall-2022.png 1024w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Follow-the-Blog-Tour-Fall-2022-300x59.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Follow-the-Blog-Tour-Fall-2022-768x150.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Week One<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-table\"><table><tbody><tr><td>11\/21\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.yabookscentral.com\/ya-books-blog\/\">YA Books Central<\/a><\/td><td>Excerpt\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td><strong>11\/22\/2022<\/strong><\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/kaitgoodwin.com\/books\"><strong>Kait Plus Books<\/strong><\/a><\/td><td><strong>Excerpt\/IG Post<\/strong><\/td><\/tr><tr><td>11\/23\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/wickedbeebooks\/\">Wickedbeebooks<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>11\/24\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.eyerollingdemigod.com\/\">Eye-Rolling Demigod&#8217;s Book Blog<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>11\/25\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"http:\/\/www.nerdophiles.com\/\">Nerdophiles<\/a><\/td><td>Review<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>11\/26\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/karendeeandabc\/\">Karen Dee&#8217;s Book Reviews&nbsp;<\/a><\/td><td>IG Review<\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Week Two<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-table\"><table><tbody><tr><td>11\/27\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.jazzybookreviews.com\/\">A Dream Within A Dream<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>11\/28\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/pluvioreads.blogspot.com\/\">pluvioreads<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/TikTok Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>11\/29\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/froggyreadteach\/\">@froggyreadteach<\/a><\/td><td>IG Review<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>11\/30\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"http:\/\/www.onemoreexclamation.com\/\">OneMoreExclamation<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/1\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/lexijavabookish.wordpress.com\/\">@lexijava&nbsp;<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/2\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"http:\/\/booklovingnut.com\/\">The Book Nut<\/a><\/td><td>Review&nbsp;<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/3\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/instagram.com\/my.bookish.mind\">My.Bookish.Mind<\/a><\/td><td>IG Review\/TikTok Post<\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Week Three<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-table\"><table><tbody><tr><td>12\/4\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"http:\/\/abackwardsstory.blogspot.com\/\">A Backwards Story&nbsp;<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/5\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/readerofthewrittenword\">@readerofthewrittenword&nbsp;<\/a><\/td><td>IG Spotlight<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/6\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/onemused\">onemused<\/a><\/td><td>IG Review<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/7\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/mcmahoncelia.wixsite.com\/website\">Celia&#8217;s Reads<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/8\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"http:\/\/bookbriefs.net\/\">Book Briefs<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/9\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/thebookishfoxwitch\/\">@thebookishfoxwitch<\/a><\/td><td>IG Review<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/10\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/ablueboxfullofbooks\/\">A Blue Box Full of Books<\/a><\/td><td>IG Review\/LFL Drop Pic<\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Week Four<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-table\"><table><tbody><tr><td>12\/11\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/momfluenster\/\">Momfluenster<\/a><\/td><td>IG Review\/FB Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/12\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/acourtofcoffeeandbooks.com\/\">A Court of Coffee and Books<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/13\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/insatiablereaders.blogspot.com\/\">Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers&nbsp;<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/14\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/drew_ambitious_reading\/\">@drew_ambitious_reading<\/a><\/td><td>IG Review\/TikTok Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/15\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"https:\/\/thebookreviewcrew.com\/\">The Book Review Crew<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><tr><td>12\/16\/2022<\/td><td><a href=\"http:\/\/popthebutterfly.wordpress.com\/\">popthebutterfly<\/a><\/td><td>Review\/IG Post<\/td><\/tr><\/tbody><\/table><\/figure>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"850\" height=\"50\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20416\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png 850w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-300x18.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-768x45.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 850px) 100vw, 850px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"200\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Enter-the-Giveaway-Fall-2022.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20443\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Enter-the-Giveaway-Fall-2022.png 1024w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Enter-the-Giveaway-Fall-2022-300x59.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Enter-the-Giveaway-Fall-2022-768x150.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.rafflecopter.com\/rafl\/display\/e2389ba21583\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noreferrer noopener\">Enter here for a chance to win a print copy of <em>A Wilderness of Stars<\/em> by Shea Ernshaw!<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>(US Only)<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"850\" height=\"50\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20416\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers.png 850w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-300x18.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Fall-2022-Dividers-768x45.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 850px) 100vw, 850px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"200\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Questions-for-You-Fall-2022.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20429\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Questions-for-You-Fall-2022.png 1024w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Questions-for-You-Fall-2022-300x59.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Questions-for-You-Fall-2022-768x150.png 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">What do you think about <em>A Wilderness of Stars<\/em>? Have you added it to your tbr yet? Let me know in the comments and have a splendiferous day!<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-large\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"1024\" height=\"512\" src=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Happy-Reading-Kait-Plus-Books-Signature-Fall-2022-1024x512.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20426\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Happy-Reading-Kait-Plus-Books-Signature-Fall-2022-1024x512.png 1024w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Happy-Reading-Kait-Plus-Books-Signature-Fall-2022-300x150.png 300w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Happy-Reading-Kait-Plus-Books-Signature-Fall-2022-768x384.png 768w, https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/Happy-Reading-Kait-Plus-Books-Signature-Fall-2022.png 1200w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Happy Tuesday and welcome to my stop on the blog tour for A WILDERNESS OF STARS by Shea Ernshaw! I&#8217;m so excited because today I have an excerpt of the book to share with you! This book is truly amazing and I&#8217;m so excited to for you to find out more about it, PLUS enter for a chance to win a print copy!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":20951,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[484,1001,27],"tags":[4427,537,651,540,462,4387,538,4428],"reading-challenges":[],"class_list":["post-20949","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-book-tours","category-excerpt","category-giveaways","tag-a-wilderness-of-stars","tag-blog-tour","tag-excerpt","tag-giveaway","tag-kait-plus-books","tag-november-2022","tag-rockstar-book-tours","tag-shea-ernshaw","book-author-shea-ernshaw","book-publisher-simon-schuster-books-for-young-readers","book-genre-fantasy","book-genre-romance","book-genre-ya"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/11\/A-Wilderness-of-Stars-Featured-Image.png","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20949","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20949"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20949\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20953,"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20949\/revisions\/20953"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20951"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20949"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20949"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20949"},{"taxonomy":"reading-challenges","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.kaitgoodwin.com\/books\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/reading-challenges?post=20949"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}