@forthope, cont.
the boy spies her walk-and-halt. his facial expression twists into something anxious. perhaps you should have stayed outta eyesight. perhaps you ought to run. but she wants him to help!
he trudges forward. busted, broken shoes scraping. copper, wired eyes darting. skinny arms loop toward bag and fingers truss the straps. (up the hill. his footsteps are slow, considerate. precious freight within hands.)
a faint, awkward smile that aches his cheek. an electric shock wince. “ you can count on me, ” august drawls softly.















