Porcupine Ridge granite eye

Dull ringing in his ear—the strangers conversed, and keenly, the boy looked between them now, studying—knowing they discussed him and feeling indignation burn within his chest. His head throbbed—his memory frayed on events. The dark one spoke of parents—his mom, and the indignation withered to an ache.

Was she here? “Where is she?” The words were raspier than he intended, the glare in his gaze trying to overcome such weakness. Thoughts of food stirred a natural growl from his stomach, but it was the jut of his chin that remained an answer—

—that taste of sap stuck to his teeth—clung to him. Never again would he be able to taste or smell the scent of such a thing and not become overcome with nausea and lost hope.