The Isle was no more. Scattered, fragmented; and Boone knew not where Iseul had gone.
Much less at the forefront of his mind was the red-eyed westerner and his gang. If his suspicions had been correct about him, he'd either fuck off or take the land for himself. Boone found himself not particularly keen on dealing with it. He'd explore his options, he thought; take his business elsewhere for the time being. No use beating a dead horse. Maybe he'd come back to Iseul when the time was right.
The river's edge began to disappear from view behind him and his coat is given a rough shake. Directionless, his feet take him into the thick woodlands with heavy steps and a gentle sigh that passes from between chapped lips.
And then, he looks down. Whose goddamn baby was that?
When he tastes the air, he smells the piney bogwater Isle on the little guy's pelt. This must've been one of the kids Iseul was looking after. Hey, little man, he is gentle in his approach, cautious; this kid didn't know him, and he didn't know this kid, but his gut swims with the desire to help him. my name is Boone. Where's your mama?

This kid didn't trust him. Which, honestly, he couldn't exactly blame him. But how was he to convince a strange child that he wasn't here to cause him harm?
He softens, bringing himself a bit lower to the ground with a gentle sway of his tail. The little guy's display of toughness brings his ears down against his skull as he tries to crack a smile. I reckon you're tryna get outta dodge before Colt pulls his head out of his ass and realizes you ran off, he quirks an eyebrow knowingly. me too, kid.
He stays put, decidedly, not quite ready to sit, but not wanting to approach or start walking away under the assumption he'd follow. You hungry? You look it.

That seemed to have worked, at least somewhat. Had the mountaineer hands, he would have mimed a zipping motion over his lips. Secret's between you, me, and God.
As Boone looks down at the poor kid, this jumbled ball of raven fur, his chest tugs. Where the hell was Iseul? Where were this kid's parents? His siblings? Did he have any? He leaves all of these questions to flit about in his mind for now. He'd been a boy too, once; a boy like him with wide brown eyes and no one left to make him their problem.
A lump forms in his throat.
Let's get you some supper. We'll hop down by the river and I'll catch us both somethin', how 'bout that? He lumbers forward with a motion of a hefty paw. I hear there's a nice coastline up this way, too. I ain't never been to no beach, though. Can't promise it don't suck.

One thing Boone specifically noticed was that this boy refers to Iseul by her name, not as mama or nothing. Was she not his mom? Maybe she wasn't. Either way, he doesn't ask for clarification.
He keeps his pace to a slow trot, every so often glancing to his side to ensure the little guy is still following. Poor thing couldn't be more than a few months old.
How the hell could anyone abandon a poor kid like this?
Were you born in the Isle? he finally inquires, an ashen ear swiveling to bat away a gnat that happened to hover close to his face. He keeps his nose to the air, attentive, in case something a little more filling than fish happened to cross their path. I'm gonna guess you ain't from moon-somethin', at least. a chuckle follows. Maybe they could go there, if their luck ran dry — and if this kid could learn to trust him.

His parents left him and took two of his siblings. Jesus, how awful was that? Boone found himself frowning, even as the little guy seemed to shrug it off as if it were nothing.
And now, Iseul and the other pup; god knows where either of them went. He clears his throat as the dryness of it begins to take hold. You've been through a lot, his shoulders slump. Did he even realize that? it's okay to let yourself miss 'em. Believe me.
The question is turned on him as the trees grow more and more sparse, transitioning to a wide stretch of pale foothills as the sound of rushing water grows closer; seasalt clings to the humid air. There's a heavy pause, a thickness to it, as his eyes gleam with something unrecognizable. I was a lot like you, his lip curves into a smile, one of fondness. my mama and my daddy both kicked the bucket when I was real young. Don't got no siblings. I had to learn how to live on my own. he draws a slow breath. Damn near didn't make it.
Mount Chesney. He thinks of the temple, the way his mama wrapped herself around him after worship. Catching fireflies and holding them in a soft mouth, the redness of daddy's face when his bumbling son tracked muck from the creek into the den. He thinks of how he doesn't remember what their voices sounded like.
And he looks down at this child; this little boy so disenchanted already, and he fights the tears that glaze his eyes.
But the river's not too far, now. You ever been fishin', l'il man?

The boy says he doesn't miss them. And maybe that were true; maybe he hadn't enough memory of them to even know who to miss; maybe he had no memories to look back on with a tightened chest.
And maybe it was better that way.
I prayed, for a while, he draws a breath, then, a clench to the knuckles of his forepaws. but I stopped one day. Whatever I was doin' wasn't enough for the man upstairs to answer me, apparently. I don't know if I ever really thought he was there.
Another pause.
But, um, I'onno. I grew up real fast. Had no choice. Taught myself everything I know now.
And then, a look.
I don't want that for you, kid.
His steps land upon the edge of a sturdy rock along the riverbank. The boy hollers, as if setting a challenge, and Boone chuffs out a loose chuckle. I bet you can.
He stares down into the ruddy water as it weaves around debris, soaked twigs and moss and fallen leaves. And there, they would wait. Watch where you step, and keep your eyes peeled.