Our dried voices / when We whisper together / Are quiet and meaningless

He was being followed. Every time, though, that Grey turned around, there was no one there, or someone simply passing along the street, not following, not threatening, not even bothering with the strange, silent boy in the scrubs and cast.

When he stopped, ducking around a corner, he waited, finally sneaking a peek where he'd come from.

That was when he saw it. A sad, battered looking thing who went still at being watched, scrunched against the wall. What was that? Slowly, Grey crouched down, staring at it, the creature looking right back at him.

It was missing an eye, it was dirty and had clearly been in more than one fight. As weird as it sounded, the thing made Grey feel something in his chest - a tight warmth. From his pocket, he pulled a small packet of cheese and bread he'd brought and he pulled off a bit, holding it out.

For a long time, the creature didn't move, his nose flaring. Then, when Grey stayed very still, he came forward, sniffing at the food, then quickly snatching it, skittering away to eat it. The boy took a bite, too, leaning his back against a building as he shared his small meal with his new friend in bits and scraps.