My brothers told me I’d never leave the nest, and for the longest time I believed them. Mother and father said otherwise; they said I would leave one day, and they would miss me, and I would miss them. But I knew that if I ever did leave, I wouldn’t miss my brothers. I might never come back to the nest if they were still there. I remember the smell of soil, twigs, and other things mother and father had scavenged from around the forest for us. It was a home, truly. And now, all these years later, when I am gone from the nest and making my own home for myself, I try to bring some of that original love in with me. Not for my brothers, though. They don’t visit anyway. I hear they still live at home.