Wapun Meadow before it all becomes the same old song

The doppelganger speaks, and the spell is broken. Taylor blinks, and he notices the differences: he's shorter and thinner than him, and a good deal lighter in colour, and the way he carries himself is worlds apart from Taylor's awkward and stiff posture.
I—I'm sorry, he says, trying to pinpoint sheepishness on the chart of facial expressions. I thought you were someone else. He concedes that it isn't entirely a lie.
They stand there in silence as he tries not to look at the blood on the other boy's mouth. Where the hell did it even come from? By any chance, he ventures, nervously tugging at his sleeves, Are you looking for somewhere to stay? It feels comfortable to be a tool in someone else's hand. An instrument. He thinks that this role is what he was born to do. A mallet and a string line, all coming together to make a brick wall, labeled Ursus.