WE BECOME THOUGHTLESS

twenty-one | attention starved

The three of them settled down beneath a large, leafless tree, where Alistair watched as both Cole and Emer dug out a dry clearing in the dirt. They'd slathered a nice layer of sanaberries over the teeth-marks in his leg, where he had wiped away the blood and rolled up his pant leg.

On closer inspection, the wound had been considerably large – the fleshy indents in his leg had torn through skin and muscle, and he could still imagine the wolf's great jaw snapping down over his calf. Alistair grimaced and settled next to the freshly made fire, made his bed, and slept.

But the echoes of adrenaline kept him awake as he stared over the embers of the fire, his head resting on his pillow and his legs stretched out over his makeshift bed. Why had Cole panicked so much? And why had he left?

The sleeping boy was turned away from him, his dark head dipped between his shoulders. Cole didn't make any sense, and it was infuriating – all Alistair wanted to do was unravel him, limb by limb, examine just why he was the way he was. For once, he almost wanted to use his mindrenderer hands to delve into his mind, but he shoved the thought into the back of his mind. How could he want such an awful thing?

And by morning, Alistair hadn't had any sleep at all.

He wiped at the shadows below his eyes with long fingers and yawned into his hand. They would be moving down the mountain soon, and if Emer was right, Clan Canale was just around the corner. He didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.

The logical side of him told him to be worried, but it was just so nice to be away from the Chrysosian army. And, although he wouldn't admit it to himself, Alistair was starting to regard the white Weles forest with more than just a longing for home – he liked its lean trees and salt and pepper sky.

Emer hauled her packed bag over her shoulder and kicked Cole in the boot, who was still slumped against his bedding. He raked his fingers through his hair before sitting up, the lump in his throat going up and down as he swallowed, and then cast a look up at Emer.

"What, no grand awakening?" He arched a brow.

Emer shrugged and said something in Welish. Alistair looked away, suddenly feeling though he were intruding on a private conversation, until Cole stood and looked down at him with a soft frown.

"You look tired," he said.

Alistair scoffed and lifted his bag over his shoulder, muscles aching, and grinned at him joylessly. "No wonder," and then, "hey, at least we match now."

"What?"

Alistair limped forward as Emer kicked dirt into the fire and started the trek through a parting of trees. He cast a look over his shoulder at the other boy, whose hair stuck out like a bird's next, all twig and wire. "We're both a pair of limping idiots now,"

Cole stomped through the snow to match his step. He didn't look up as he fumbled with the straps of his back, and Alistair got the sense that he was trying to hide his embarrassment. "Wrong," Cole shook his head. "There's only one idiot."

"And I suppose you think that's me?"

"I don't think, I know."

|||

Alistair's mother worked day and night, day and night, and didn't seem to ever have much time for him. Patients came in every day, and every day he was tossed aside, always an afterthought. He tried not to be bitter – he knew she worked very hard, that her work was important. But sometimes it stung.

He sat by the lake, knees tucked up to his chest as he prodded at the water's edge with a long stick. Pale hair fell over his eyes like a veil. In the centre of the lake, his old boat had capsized and was floating listlessly in the dark water like a corpse.