Sandy Bradshaw had never had a proper home. She’d grown up in foster care, and while there were some good homes (Ms Reese, the Borgens) none of them were ever permanent. When she’d turned 18 she had to say goodbye to the system and her escape route- drugs.

They were the only way she could be what she wanted to be. They helped her change her reality. Without people looking out for her, Sandy couldn’t use chemical distractions anymore. That made her restless and angry and she left Jameson Cove. Left the bad memories.

She got a taste for the open road and it became her new addiction. Keeping herself as busy as possible so she’d forget she was sober was a brilliant plan until night came and she was alone with her thoughts.

She stole a few things when she couldn’t sleep. She never hurt anybody, and she only stole from those who had something to give. It was justified. She was saving up to make a new reality for herself. One she’d be happier with.

Because Sandy wasn’t always Sandy. She was born Stanley Bradshaw. She’d made it to the age of three with her biological parents when they left one day and never came back. When she was older she was told it was a car accident, but somewhere within herself she knew that wasn’t true. They were out there.

Sandy made her peace with that. No more attachments. She’d have the odd one night stand after she’d turned 21 and had the surgery to put herself into the right body, but beyond that all she brought with her from one town to the next was fond memories. Well, that’s not entirely true.

Sandy picked up Oslo in Stone River Canyon. He made for great company. Even though it meant spending some of the money she earned from odd jobs (and the occasional pickpocketing) on dog food, she never regretted her decision. He was a big dog. And quite ugly to those who worship pugs and purebreds.

Sandy didn’t even know where to begin when she thought about what he had in his genes. Definitely some yak or bison. She’d called him Oslo because she found him near a faded sign that must have said “Wood sold- low prices!” decades ago but now only read “o s lo “ unless you look real close. People asked her if she was from, or had ever been to and fallen in love with, Norway at every stop.

She stopped in Oak Hills yesterday. While she was getting gas and provisions for the road, she thought back on how far she’d come. About if she’d eventually run into her parents if she just kept going.

Sandy was still young. Once she’d made it to the other end of the continent (and she was very nearly there), she would move onto a new one. She wanted to see the world. With her best (or beast) friend Oslo by her side, of course.