He pauses when I call after him, as I expected him to, but he doesn’t actually turn around to face me. Instead, he shoots me a dark look over his shoulder, and I can feel…something strange. Like, maybe he isn’t so nice. It occurs to me that he could hurt me, if he wanted to, but I’m not afraid of that. I like to think that I’m a force to be reckoned with, if only because I’m brave. Even his voice is dark. He mocks me; I’m familiar with sarcasm. But I’m not easily deterred, so I match his stare – we face off next to the river, and after a brief moment, he pulls away and keeps moving. I’m not scared of him, and I intend to prove it. I let him get a few steps ahead, then plod through the mud to join him, whether I’m invited or not.

“I’m exploring, too. Home is boring. I wanted to see something different.” I fall in step with him, a good foot or so from his side – I like my space – and follow quietly for a while. A cricket chirps and bounces across my path. I pounce at it gracelessly, my springy puppy legs carrying me just a little too far. It escapes, and I look up to see that the dark boy is escaping, too. I trot forward to catch up again, and spend some time reveling in the unfamiliarity of our surroundings. New smells, new sights, and a stranger. Fathom would not be best pleased, and it thrills me. Eventually, my natural curiosity bubbles up again, and I have to ask, “So where do you live? What’s your name? I’m Boleyn!”