Snowforest Taiga a wandering soul Traveling a well worn road

Boris watched the man's mannerisms. In some ways, he reminded him of mama. His softness, he thought, or the way he reverently bowed... though Boris could not remember if mama ever bowed, or if the memory was one he had made up for her somewhere along the way. Perhaps even now, as he sought familiarity in the stranger, and the strange world he had fittingly stepped into.

Mothers were good at many things. Holding close and naming stars and making you feel like the world could not touch you, as long as you stayed wrapped up in her arms. Boris simply blinked and bowed his head in a tiny nod. I s'pose. Even though he knew. Say any more, and the hot tears would break the thin walls they piled up behind.

I know what that's like, Boris said, my dad's dead. And he wondered if a monster had found John family, too. Maybe everyone scattered when things like that happened. Maybe his mama didn't think of him and didn't look for him because monsters tore apart, and she knew this better than him, and didn't expect anything different in the aftermath.

Or maybe he should have brought her with. She'd wanted to leave, anyways. It was Bronte and Ponyboy who had pressed so hard to stay.

It sure feels a lot safer, when you've got someone else t'watch your back, not that he could give much of that in return, or tell stories with, or count stars with, he shrugged, and glanced away. Or prissy stuff like that. I don't think I'm much good for much more than that.