Little Goat Mountain the poem that took place of a mountain

Ocra didn’t know where she was going. She knew she had to get out of the forest and into the openness because she’d forgotten how to breathe. Her shoulder hurt, throbbing with each step she’d take and eventually, with a new searing pain, she’d been thrust out into the open. There wasn’t much space for her to go as an incline begins, the sound of clacking in the distance, but it didn’t matter. It was open and cool and free. Her breathing had become ragged and she’d nearly collapsed beneath the weight but after a few staggering steps, she searched the base of the mountain into she’d come across a small cave she’d be able to take refuge in for the night.

She had to lower herself to the ground to fit beneath overhang but once she made her way in and determined it wasn’t occupied by another being, she was able to make herself comfortable and plop down for the last few hours of the night. She moved to rest a way that took the pressure of her shoulder and she didn’t have to wait too long before exhaustion whisked her away into slumber.

The girl doesn’t move from her spot until morning when a sliver of sun illuminated the opening of the cave. Her limbs stretched and she twisted, finding it easier to move her shoulder in all directions. She picked herself up and took a step, then back, and flexed it to only feel a little soreness lingering. With nothing damaged and one less thing to worry about, she squirmed her way out of the cave into the open, feeling the sun shine down upon her face. The tree line of the forest stood in the distance, and an opening off to the side, and with no interest to return through the way she’d come, she decided to explore the base of the mountain a little while longer.

The night had been spent within the dark forest, the calls of foxes having echoed all around him. Surprisingly, though, it'd been the easiest he'd slept in quite some time. Still had he been forced awake all throughout the night by taunting nightmares, but it'd occurred considerably less than whenever he slept in Wolfskull. He was far from Blackfeather, guarded by a mountain range. He'd been able to assure himself that nothing would happen, that he'd be fine—and it'd helped, but not entirely so. Xan had still been dragged into a state of consciousness early in the morning, and from there he'd been unable to fall back into any sort of slumber. Exhausted and sore from having slept in an awkward position, he'd departed from the forest, knowing that it was time for him to return home. Had his family missed him the previous night? Had they noticed his absence? Shaking his head, the thoughts were dismissed and his attention placed on the path home that he was to take.

When Alexander had broken out from beneath the coverage of the trees, he'd instantly squinted against the harshness of the sun. Always had it bothered him, but it'd become noticeably worst since he'd taken up residence within Blackfeather. Always was he in the dark, which made his eyes far more sensitive to the light than they'd previously been. He'd wanted to seek coverage because of it, but had decided against doing so. The sooner he returned to the woods, the sooner he'd be engulfed by darkness once more. Xan proceeded with the intention of going around the range, sticking close to the base and walking in the shade whenever it was possible. To cross over the mountains would have been quicker, but he didn't trust himself to walk along the ledges and whatnot, his eyes uncooperative.

During his walking, he'd eventually spotted the outline of a wolf in the distance, but the form was but a blur for a long while. After moving closer to the mountains, he'd continued forward, but it hadn't been until he was a short distance away and in the shade that he'd realized who it was. He didn't have a name to call her by, but recognized her—vaguely—as the woman that had been tripped by the root. Why was she there? Despite the fact that she'd clearly been there long before he'd arrived, he was suspicious, as was portrayed in his voice when he'd called out to her with, "You again?" Xan thought that it was the same wolf, but, then again, he couldn't be sure given his poor eyesight.

It's been so long since I've seen you!

Ocra didn’t have anywhere she needed to be. She thought briefly of Sriracha and where she might have been able to find him but for the time being she was content enjoying the warmth the morning sun had to offer. She could rest for as long as she wanted, save up some energy she’d wasted in the last several days, but she also knew winter would be around the corner. Where she ended up remained a mystery but she was always hopeful she’d come upon something that might be enough to offer homage before the upcoming season. 

She’d been curious about what the rest of the valley had to offer and after the events of the previous night, she’d much rather make her way back to somewhere she was comfortable in. A place she knew well enough that she wouldn’t trip in the middle of the night and make a fool of herself. None of the territories offered such familiarity and she knew she’d have to back track a long way before she found what she really wanted.

In the distance, she could see another wolf. The fur was white and immediately she felt her heart speed up and lodge itself in her throat. Even if it were unlikely to be the same wolf from the night before, she felt a twist of her stomach. If she ran, she knew she could trigger an instinct, and backing up and hiding would be suspicious, knowing by now they’d noticed her just the same.

It is when he was close enough that she rolled her eyes. 

“Just my luck,” she grumbled, shaking her head and considering what she might do upon his approach. 

She expected him to keep going but eventually he appeared within earshot and spoke to her first. She stared at him for a long moment, as if he hadn’t just spoken to her, and her eyebrows knitted together as she searched the reaches of her mind for something witty to say that might save the embarrassment she’d found previously. 

Instead, and without tack, she blurted the words: “Are you following me?”

I know! o:

Any doubt that he'd had in regards to her identity disappeared when she'd spoken. His eyesight wasn't the greatest during the day, but his ears worked just fine, and so he'd been able to recognize her voice better than her appearance. It was the very same female he'd met the night before, which made his suspicion grow. It was obvious that she'd been ahead of him, yes, but fear took precedence over rationality. Had Cicero sent her to keep an eye on him? Was he planning another attack? A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of it, his legs having locked whilst an uneasy feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. His attention was, for the moment, drawn elsewhere when she'd asked a question, but for how long it'd last was unforeseeable.

"No," he'd answered, quieter than desired. After taking in a breath, however, he'd tried again. "No, I'm not following you." He was going home, where he'd then seek out his parents and settle in with them. Neither would let him be attacked, he was sure of it. But, he wondered, would he ever make it back? "Are you following me?" Xan repeated back, shifting his weight around until he'd found himself to be balanced. Without having realized it, his muscles had tensed and his ears swiveled around, assessing his surroundings just in case he'd be made to run. "Are you working for him?" The question had been given abruptly, lacking poise. Considering the possible answers, he couldn't decide which might be worse. Either Cicero had enlisted a servant to follow him around, or the male had left him without the ability to live a normal life. Swallowing, he'd looked towards her the best that he could, waiting to see how he'd have to proceed.

No.

It was quiet but it was a no. 

Ocra opened her mouth to speak but he continued, affirming it wasn’t him following her. The return of the question, however, put a smile on her face and she was going to chuckle up until he gave her another, harsher question than the first.

Are you working for him?

What? she wanted to ask but her dark olive eyes locked upon his features, trying to find the answers to her questions before she can ask them. That his stoic expression will change to a laugh but it never does. Fuck, he’s serious.

“I’m not following you… you’re the one who approached me. Twice!” she said as if he couldn’t hear her. “Who is him?” Ocra quickly scanned the area for someone else to pop out and explain everything. There was only the two of them in the small clearing with the forest on one side and a mountain on the other and the both of them, ultimately, traveling the exact opposite way. They’d have to cross one another at some point and for a few seconds, she cursed herself for not waking sooner.

The woman claimed that she wasn't following him, but he wasn't as quick to believe as he'd been to accuse. After a moment of thought, however, he'd realized that she did have a point. On both occasions that they'd met, he'd been the one to stumble across her, not the other way around. But, then again... "How do I know you haven't been planning these meetings?" asked the Inuit, his voice having raised in pitch part way through. "You could have seen me and then set it up to seem like I ran into you." It would have been a lot of work to do so, but he couldn't deny the possibility of anything. Even in spite of the fact that he'd been alert throughout the entirety of his journey, he had to consider the chance that she could have slipped through the cracks. That by some stroke of luck—or bad luck for him—she'd gotten passed him without having ever been noticed.

Xan's belief faltered when she'd asked who he was, as she'd then proceeded to scan the area. A part of him wanted to believe her, to give in and settle on the fact that she knew nothing, but his fear wouldn't let him. "Cicero," he'd hissed, the name tasting like acid on his tongue. "Why are you here?" So far, she hadn't given him any legitimate reasons to think that she wished to harm him, but she also hadn't proven herself to be entirely harmless, either. Clumsy, perhaps, but not lacking in the danger department.

He’d begun to reach for an explanation that would prove she had been following him and she scoffed once he reached the end of his list. She didn’t know many ways to tell him no that would stop him from searching for more reasons, no matter how unthinkable, and Ocra was left standing there floundering for an answer. Had her obliviousness been enough to convince him? 

She took a step back, now actively searching for a way out of the situation. Her shoulder still ached a little that might slow down her running but pushing past him and sprinting her way through the clearing was really the safest way out. If she went back the way she’d come, she would be faced with the mountain and slopes she most definitely hadn’t been prepared for. The forest ahead of them had mostly been left unexplored and for all she knew, he was more than familiar with their surroundings and she was left in the dark.

“I don’t know a Cicero,” she told him. She even whined, hoping to deter the blame somewhere else. He didn’t want anything to do with her last night and now he won’t leave her alone and she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. “Just… leave me alone,” she added, took a deep breath, and begun a wide circle around the pale male to get out of it.

The was silence in place of a reply towards his outrageous accusations, which had sent him through a loop. Did she not know how to respond? Did that mean that she hadn't been actively seeking him out? His mouth opened as if he'd had more words to throw her way, but there'd been no words to speak prior to its closing. He'd been wrong, it seemed, but never would he admit it aloud. There would always exist at least an ounce of suspicion, but, for now, it'd died down just enough for him to see through the haze of his own mind. She hadn't been following him, she hadn't intended to meet him, and that was that. It'd been by coincidence that they'd met yet again, the same direction having needed to be taken in order for them to reach whatever destinations they each had in mind.

Xan hadn't noticed the step back, the distance having been too little for him to realize. It didn't help, either, that he'd closed his eyes for a brief moment so as to ease the burning sensation. The stranger spoke, and he looked right back at her, pushing past the pain so that he could try and see her features better. The boy didn't possess the same ability to read others as his father did, but he'd picked up on enough of tricks to find out what was a lie and what wasn't—and what she'd said hadn't been a lie, as far as he'd been able to tell. Ears fell back when she whined, another one of his mistakes having been realized. A request was then made, followed by an attempt to leave; this time he'd seen her moving, and had turned his body to follow her motions.

"Wait," the boy had called, only to fall silent thereafter. What did he want to say? What should he say? The idea of conversing with a stranger didn't sit well with him, but when he thought about what it meant if he were to turn away from everyone, he'd brushed the feeling off the best that he could. "I–," he'd fumbled over what to say next, thinking an apology to be unnecessary. "Who are you?" Better than nothing, however awkward it sounded.

All she had to do was get past him and she could go about her business. If he wanted to be left alone so badly, as he had the night prior, it wouldn’t be much of a problem. She tried not to focus on the slight ache in her shoulder with each step and she focused on the open filed in which she needed to gross to back track to familiar territory. However, she didn’t notice him turn and follow her direction before he spoke.

Ocra flinched and looked back as he stammered over his words before settling on the question he thought he might want to ask. She didn’t necessarily feel uncomfortable but she knew she didn’t want to be here anymore. He was wasting both of their time by stopping and trying to talk to her and now that there was something he wanted, he was willing to make it even more awkward. 

She just wanted to get away and go about the rest of her day without any other interruptions or run-ins with delusional boys. 

Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing more than a distressed uhhhh came out. With eyes widened, she pivoted back the way she’d been going and, despite the ache in her shoulder, began a sprint through the field.

Given her assumed inclination to speak the night before, for her to flee had not been expected. He'd kept still as an answer was waited on, moving neither forward nor backwards. He couldn't decide if he was actually curious to find out her name, or if he was just looking for a reason to keep the conversation going—or maybe his reason was neither of those, and just because he wanted a reason to not return to the woods just yet. The sunlight was a pain, yes, but the memories of Wolfskull were far worse; even still, if that turned out to be the case, it was an unconscious decision.

Rather than an answer having been given, however, he'd noticed a shift and then the other sprinting away. A moment was taken to realize what had just happened, to register that she'd run away from him. At first, he'd just stood there, squinting in her direction. After considering his options is when he'd taken off after her, his pace having started off slow and cautious, before shifting into a sprint of his own.

It'd taken a bit of time, his own hesitance at moving quickly whilst partially blind having slowed him down, but he'd managed to eventually catch up with her. Past her he'd gone, even, coming to a stop in the dead center of her path in an attempt to make her stop.

Perhaps if she didn’t have a tender shoulder she could put a greater distance between herself and the strange male. If she could use her full speed without putting too much pain through her body, where the current speed already played a toll and slowing her down, she’d be able to rush through the tree line and disappear into the forest. However, Ocra was never much known for her grace—the white male having saw that first hand before—and she nearly tripped when he came into view next to her. 

Well, that wasn’t fair.

Ocra tries for one final burst of energy, disregarded the pain seared through her shoulder, and she bolted forward just a little. But when he veered in front of her, halting, she suddenly scrambled to a stop that sent her, once more, face first into the ground. Her brakes hadn’t been up to paw when trying to stop and for fear of actually running into the man, she found herself eating dirt.

Instead of picking herself up and dusting herself off, Ocra’s chest heaved roughly while she laid in the shape of a pretzel on the ground. Her eyes wandered off somewhere else, afraid to move partially in fear of damaging her shoulder further and partially in fear of triggering another response to her fleeing. He hadn’t taken her request to be left alone moments ago, no amount of pleading would grant her wish now.

Sriracha wasn't following Ocra. No way. That would be weird, and creepy, and disrespectful of her individuality. Nope. Not following her. He just happened to have arrived at their agreed rendeszvou point a little early and, upon seeing Ocra, decided to tag along. From a distance. Completely quiet. He'd gotten a little distracted by some interesting smells along the way, thus missing Ocra's conversation with the stranger. It was hard to miss her running away though, and equally difficult to not see the man give chase.

Well, now that wouldn't do. Sriracha took off after them both and caught up just in time to see her fall onto her face. She didn't move from where she landed, and he chose to reveal himself so he could check on her. Ocra didn't look dead. Dead wolves didn't keep breathing. Relieved that he hadn't just witnessed the murder (accidental or not) of his first friend he'd made since arriving, he looked now to the wolf that had given chase. Man, what gives? he asked. Ocracoke, mi amiga, you good?

For the second time now he'd seen her crash to the ground, though the current fall seemed just a bit more severe than the previous. Several steps had been taken backwards, distancing himself some more until she'd come to a complete stop. Several seconds were spent just watching her, brows pinched together. He couldn't see her breathing, so when she hadn't gotten up, he'd assumed something had happened. Curious and confused, he'd asked, "Are you okay?" Moving towards her to inspect the body, he'd lowered his head down to get a closer look, but hadn't been able to do so far very long. Footfalls pulled his attention away from the woman and towards an approaching male, but he'd yet to move back to his original spot.

"I didn't do this," he'd said, looking back towards the heap of a wolf. "She fell." He wasn't entirely wrong, but also hadn't shared the entire story. Having not seen the other prior to his approach, he'd naught the slightest of clues that his stunt had been witnessed.

She didn’t know how long she laid there for, focused on breathing and trying to keep still. It took a second before he approached and she tensed all her muscles, limbs folding in on themselves and closing her off to the outside world. The question went unanswered while a bitter taste rose in her throat. Ocra opened her mouth to speak when a familiar Spanish accent came out instead. She blinked her olive eyes before she slowly pulled to see a familiar Spanish wolf suddenly talking to her.

Ocra looked at him for a long moment before she made another move to stand, the pale wolf objecting to having done anything. She scoffed while her legs untangled themselves and, unsteadily, picked herself up from the ground. Discovering she was unable to put any weight on her right front leg, she gingerly placed her toes on the ground once she’d angled herself to appear to be on Sriracha’s team.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she lied but she wanted the whole thing to be over. The white boy could go about his business now and Ocra would return with the friend she’d made and never have to see him again.

Ocra rose, favoring her left leg. She seemed unsteady, both on her feet and inside. In her heart and stuff. Sriracha budged up beside her, aiming to be a bastion of support and comfort. They were partners, and that was what partners did. They were pillars to support one another. Ocra claimed that she was okay, but Sriracha wasn't convinced. Yeah, okay, he said, not sounding very convincing himself. 

Who is this dickhead? Sriracha whispered before deciding better of it and directed the question to the white interloper. Hey, dickhead, who are you, huh? Como te llama? He bounced on his feet, ready to spring into action in case this yet unnamed wolf decided he was itching for a fight. Sriracha believed that he hadn't tripped Ocra, but he was the one chasing her. Which, all things considered, was very rude.

Xan had been silent whilst observing the other two, which wasn't at all normal for him; not that they'd know that. When the female of the duo had started to rise, his ears fell back upon realizing her inability to really use her right forelimb. There was a brief feeling of guilt that had crept out of the depths of his mind, but it hadn't survived long as his own inability to recognize it left little to cling to. It wasn't his fault that she'd fallen, but her own for having run off in the first place. It was easy to convince himself that he'd played no part in her face-plant, for all he'd done was stop. He hadn't tripped her or run forward in some mock game of chicken, he'd only stopped and stood there. What had followed had been an event that he'd had no control over, thus eliminating his contribution to it—in his mind, at least.

Her having said for herself to be fine had been enough for the Inuit, and so he'd not pressed the matter. Whether it was a lie or not, he'd not picked through the statement enough to really tell. Her words had been accepted as the truth for the time being, meanwhile his attention was drawn towards the newest of arrivals. The latter question hadn't been understood, but the one before it was, just as well as the insult. "I'm not a dickhead," he'd said first, his body having shifted back in the process whilst his posture became defensive. "I'm Xan." Alexander, actually, but he'd made the mistake of introducing himself with his full name one too many times, so it was left at that. Following his answer, he'd turned the question back towards the both of them, asking, "What about you two?"

Ocra knew she was lying—she could barely put her toes on the ground without wincing—but Sriracha's tone caused her to internally scoff. They hadn't known each other very long and just the thought, regardless of how transparent she'd been didn't settle with her. Her eyes narrowed slightly but she brushed it off as best she could given its lack of importance. He asked her something else, which opened her mouth, but he directed it back toward the other before she had the chance to make a sound.

Xan, he called himself, claimed not to be a dickhead and Orca struggled to keep a laugh from bubbling out.

"You kinda are a dickhead," she said, glancing back toward Sriracha. His defensive stature made him seem uncertain, as if subconsciously he knew he was a dickhead. "I don't know what crawled up your ass and died, but," she trailed off with a shrug (which hurt and she tried to fight off the twisting of her face, unsuccessfully) but with Sriracha next to her, she no longer felt threatened in Xan's presence. Whatever his purpose for his crabby attitude the night before and now not willing to leave her alone, she knew would be corrected with her friend here.

This closeness to Ocra galvanized him as much as it comforted her. Alone, he could do little. With many, Sriracha had seen that he could do great things. Ocracoke would be the beginning, but there would be more. He needed a cause, he needed wolves to protect. Then he could reach his full potential.

The white wolf protested his status as a dickhead. It wasn't something that Sriracha was going to fight him on. At the end of the day, the dickheads knew who they were. Xan, encantado, he said. A much nicer name than dickhead. I am Sriracha, and this is my friend Ocracoke. We are travel partners, y compañeros en crimen, he added with a particularly saucy wink. Now. Who would like to tell me what la problema is? Let us be friendly about this, no?

How Xan saw it, he wasn't a dickhead, nor had he done anything to be called such. Sure, he'd been disinterested in conversing the previous night, but he hadn't run off like she had. He'd accused her of being someone that she wasn't and of doing something that wasn't even technically possible given the order of arrival—but, y'know, totally nothing that made him a dickhead. He'd opened his mouth as if to object, but shut it immediately after her second comment. A few steps were taken backwards with his ears falling flat in the process, the words having been misinterpreted at first, making him wonder if she knew. It'd taken a second or two for his mind to process that it was a figurative statement, not literal, but he'd kept himself back even still.

He'd looked away from her right before the male had spoken, distrust becoming confusion. Every now and again, he said something that Xan couldn't even begin to understand, and each time he became more confused; perhaps that was how others felt on the rare occasions that he spoke differently? Luckily, there were sentences completed in English, and so he'd focused on them and ignored anything he couldn't figure out the meaning of. "There isn't a problem," he'd answered, common sense having led to him understanding at least that part of his words. "I'll fix her shoulder." The boy that knows absolutely nothing about plants, herbs, or anything else that a medic might understand was going to somehow fix an injury. Yeah.

The reaction she received was a little weird and Ocra wasn't sure what to make of it. She didn't get a lot of time to think on it when Sriracha spoke up again like he could fix the whole mess but Ocra remained skeptical. Her mouth opened to object that there was a problem, that she would explain everything from the previous night to now. She wanted to just leave and she even bumped Sriracha with her good shoulder to move him along and leave Dickhead Xan behind. However, when he offered to fix her shoulder, she snapped her teeth together and looked at him with scrutiny.

"Then fix it," she told him, shifting her weight back to direct at him. Ocra wasn't even sure the extent of the injury, having not had a chance to sit and examine herself as best as she could but if there was a possibility to show up the hothead, she would just snatch that offer right off the table.

Sriracha watched them both keenly, looking for a way to solve this peacefully, if not amiably. They didn't need to walk away as friends, Ocra and Xan, but Sriracha didn't want to have enemies so soon, either. Besides, it would make him look good if he was able to smooth things over with words alone, and Sriracha wasn't above the desire to look good. Xan insisted that nothing had ocurred, which was a bold-faced lie considering something had happened. Rather than reprimand him for his dishonesty, though, Sriracha fixed him with a knowing look.

This was an expression that changed to pleased surprise when Xan offered to heal her. A healer then, are you? Sriracha asked. He nudged Ocra back, then stepped a few feet away to observe. He was close enough to intervene if it as needed, but far enough to give them space. He understood Xan's offer to be an attempt at making amends or taking responsibility, and that was something Sriracha could respect.

Prior to speaking, he hadn't stopped to really think about the meaning of his words. He'd offered to do something that he knew he wasn't capable of, as herbs and plants in general were things that he knew nothing about. There was a time when he'd been interested in nature, but it'd passed him by long ago and without any useful knowledge having been left behind. Herbs had not once ever interested him, however, despite having spent a portion of his life within a den that was filled with them. He'd always despised the various scents, having deemed them to be overpowering and bothersome. There was no way for him to assist, and he knew it.

"I'm not a healer," he'd been forced to admit, looking away as he spoke. "I don't actually know how to fix it, but I want to help." Never had he looked back towards either of them, embarrassed by his own words, as well as by the fact that he'd made an offer that was impossible for him to follow through with.

I’m not a healer.

Ocra laughed. And then laughed so more. It came out in a weird way that put a strain on her shoulder, which caused her to cease for a moment and wince, shaking her head. It doesn’t surprise her that Xan didn’t know what he was doing when it came to healing and she considered, for a moment, to let him flounder for a while longer. If he didn’t know anything, she wasn’t sure why he offered in the first place, but perhaps he was only trying to save his tail with the expectation she wouldn’t want to be touched by him at all.

She sent a sidelong glance to Sriracha, as if to say are you kidding me? but she kept silent for a moment longer to subtly scan her surroundings for something that might actually help. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything that stuck out but perhaps one of them might be able to help so she didn’t have to move too much.

“Do you know what a willow tree looks like?” she asked, locking her gaze on Xan. If he wanted to fix the shoulder, he could prove it, but if not perhaps between the two of them, they could run the boy off and send him on his way. He wasn’t anything but a nuisance at this point and she’d rather continue on without an extra pain hovering over her.

Sriracha fell uncharacteristically silent. Rather than direct the proceedings, he wanted to see how they would play out. He wanted to see Ocra's leadership abilities and Xan's reaction to her directions. He wanted to see how they worked together, for that was the only way this would work. Sure, Sriracha could help, but he admired the way Xan wanted to take responsibility for his actions. The kid seemed like he could use a few well-earned life lessons, and Sriracha didn't want to get in the way of that.

Ocracoke seemed to have some kind of healing knowledge, and this pleased Sriracha. If things went well, she would have something to dull her pain. If they didn't, Sriracha was confident in his ability to protect her from the boy.

She laughed at him.

Not only was the sound one that he wasn’t entirely used to hearing, but never before had it been directed towards him. Xan frowned, and then he glared, unsettled by the noise. Never in his life had he been interested in healing others, and so the knowledge to do so was something that he’d, obviously, never attempted to acquire. It hadn’t been important, nor a necessity, when he’d been growing up. There had always existed an actual, qualified healer in his home, so he’d never thought much of it. To be what felt like ridiculed for his lack of experience bothered him to no end, especially since it was something that he couldn’t help or change.

Even after she’d stopped laughing, his glare had remained. Regret was felt, both for having chosen to travel out in the sunlight and for pursuing her. Everything could have been avoided had he just kept walking, but he hadn’t, and he even continued to remain there. There was nothing to prevent him from leaving, and yet, he’d stayed thus far. Despite his irritation and discomfort, he’d not left the duo. Across from them was where he stood, waiting to hear everything and anything that might be said whilst simultaneously preparing his own potential responses.

A question was asked, and his reaction was a wordless one. Ears perked and his face scrunched up to display his confusion, but it was not because he didn’t know what the tree looked like. “Yeah, but why would I go near one?” asked the boy. “Those trees are dangerous.” Alexander didn’t know shit about plants, but he did know that the willow trees could not be trusted.