He kept his body low, careful not to frighten the yearling. Lin’s ears drooped, unconsciously mirroring the yearling’s posture, tried to look as harmless as possible.
The young goat curled deeper into the hollow, hooves scratching at the dirt, tail twitching with each shaky breath. His ears flicked back and forth, catching every sound, and his eyes darted away from Lin’s gaze. "I try to be good," the yearling whispered, voice trembling. "My mother also doesn’t want to talk to . She said I’m not her son. The others say I’m bad luck. They hurt . They don’t want to eat with or play. They say I’m cursed." He pawed at the ground, tracing a nervous, unsteady line in the dust.
Damn, that’s rough. I thought I had it bad, but this kid... Lin’s own ears flattened in empathy, and he felt a tightness in his chest he hadn’t expected. How do goats even recognize their mothers in a crowd? I’d be lost in a sea of identical faces. At least I can pick out the old man and that young leader, only because they stand out.
Lin let out a slow breath, feeling the cool air tickle his nose. "I know how you have felt," he said softly, his voice gentle and steady. "I didn’t want to go back either. But maybe... maybe we can figure it out together." He kept his tone low, almost a whisper, hoping not to frighten the kid.
The yearling’s ears twitched again, and he wiped his nose on the ground, sniffling as he tried to regain his composure.
For a long mont, neither spoke. Lin watched as the kid nibbled nervously at a vine leaf, as if trying to distract himself from his pain. The air between them was filled with the soft rustle of grass and the distant calls of the herd.
"Do you really think so?" the yearling asked, voice barely above the breeze, eyes finally eting Lin’s for a heartbeat.
Lin nodded, the pebble and dry leaf prickling beneath his legs as he tried to ignore the gnawing ache in his belly. "I do. Sotis the ones who don’t fit in are the ones who can see things others can’t. Maybe we just need to stick together," he said softly, watching the yearling’s reaction.
The kid’s chewing slowed. He looked up, ears flicking forward, curiosity flickering in his eyes for the first ti. "Why are you out here all alone? Did they leave you out, too? Who hurt you?" His voice was small but hopeful.
Lin’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Co on, kid. Why so many questions? Just admit you want to be friends, so I can finish this mission and find sothing to eat. His gaze darted to the tir: fifty minutes left. The numbers glowed and pulsed. Each second hit harder in his chest. It’s running out faster than I thought. The pain’s intensifying. This isn’t just hunger—it’s a countdown to failure.
His stomach cramped. The ache twisted sharper as he watched the yearling munch on the vine with innocent joy. Why can’t I enjoy that vine? He swallowed, mouth dry, jaw clenched. Hunger gnawed hard.
Lin drew in a shaky breath, letting the cool air tickle his nose as he looked up at the sky. He decided to put a little more emotion into his next words, hoping it would move things along. "The herd blad for sothing I didn’t do. Said I was cursed, too. So I left. Didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stay where I wasn’t wanted." His voice was low, the words weighed down by mory and fatigue.
The yearling’s eyes widened, soft and understanding, his tail flicking nervously. "You left everyone! I wish I could leave, too. But I’m scared. I don’t even know where to go," he whispered, voice trembling.
Lin nudged a small stone toward him, its rough edge scraping against his hoof—a playful gesture ant to ease the tension. The stone settled between them, its rugged surface worn smooth by storms. Maybe that’s what friendship is: a little battered, a little chipped, but sothing you can hold onto when the world feels cold.
He let the silence hang, watching the kid process his words. "It’s scary, but it’s not so bad when you have soone with you. Even just one friend can make a difference. So what if the others rejected you? So what if they say they don’t want to play with you? I’m here. We can play together and support each other. You don’t need to go back. They might be an, but I’m good, and I’ll play with you. We’ll be a team," Lin said, warmth shining through his words.
"You will be my friend! We will go climb trees together, right? Then you’ll help get over boulders. We will eat and sleep together!" Bojo’s voice quivered with hopeful excitent. "We will fight tough battles, too!"
Lin shook off the tension and smiled, adding a playful tone to his voice. "Yes, I’ll be your friend. I’ll do everything you say. But rember this: friends never ask the sa thing twice. That’s rule number one. You have to rember and follow it, alright?"
"No. 1 rule: never ask your friend a question a second ti," the yearling repeated, then nodded with surprising determination. "What are the other rules I should follow?"
Lin let a smile slip in, genuinely amused by the kid’s earnestness. "For now, that’s it. I’ll tell you more as we go. By the way, I don’t know your na. Mine’s Lin. That’s another rule — friends have to know each other’s nas," he added, his voice softening.
The yearling hesitated, ears drooping, tail still. "I... I never had one. Not really. Just ’hey you’ or worse." His voice was barely a whisper, and his body seed to shrink even more, as if bracing for disappointnt.
Lin blinked, surprised. A goat without a na? That’s new. I thought everyone here had one... He scratched his ear, then grinned. "That’s not right. How about I give you one? Though fair warning, I’m terrible at this," he muttered, hoping the kid didn’t hear.
"Will you give a na? I will have my own na?" Yearling’s ears perked up, tail flicking with hope. His whole body leaned forward, tension lting away as he waited for Lin’s answer.
Lin looked out across the adow, feeling the sun on his face and the breeze ruffling his fur. Sparrows swooped low, their song bright and clear. Inspiration hit him. "How about Bojo? It sounds strong and a little mischievous. I think it suits you," he said, smiling. No hard feelings, kid. Hope you never bla for this. Like I said, I’m bad at naming.
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