Something felt different about that sunrise. The river’s waters didn’t shimmer in quite the same way as they usually did in the sun’s new light. But perhaps that was because he was standing on the western bank of the river that morning, gazing beyond the silhouette of his beloved town to the horizon in the east. Bunim stood still, leaning on his walking stick for support. He hadn’t been on the other side of the Shenandoa river since he was a boy. Since before everything changed.