Lost Creek Hollow I Am the Once, Now Irreplaceable Son

The word friend ran over him like someone’s muzzle brushing backwards through his fur. Which was to say, wrong.

He growled, then, a low, deep, rumbling sound from somewhere inside his throat and chest. His earlier sneer was quickly becoming more an outright snarl on his features with his brow furrowed and his red eyes narrowed.

“I’m not your friend.” Freak. And when she showed even the slightest sign of slowing down and stopping, of talking to him—

“Then hurry up and pass.”