Harvest Dawn

 A nightmare woke him early.

 A weary soldier against the advancing forces of his own dark memories, Rafferty conceded, rising in the pre-dawn haze.

 The morning was capricious, clouds moving with haste across a slow-rising sun. Rafferty skirted the forest, walking from one patch of sun to the next as he waited for his muscles to wake and warm.

 He realized an hour later that he’d ventured well away from his newfound home. Ears twitching, the youth turned around and saw a stranger. “Hey - think I’m turned around.” Not lost. “Do you know where we are?”

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His ears splayed back.

He scratched at his shoulder. His back leg raised.

“Fuck if I know.” He grunted.

He wasn’t his fucking babysitter.

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 Rafferty snorted. Barbs didn’t phase a youth who’d grown up suckling thorns. “Guess we both have a busted internal compass. I’m Rafferty. What’s your name?”

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He stared.

”Why.”

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 “Cuz I’m shit at making up nicknames.”

 He didn’t approach further, but his tail wagged gently at his hocks.

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He huffed.

Lowered his head.

His left ear flicked, splayed back against his head, and to the side.

”Your packs that way.”

He motioned one way.

He walked the other way.

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