A Cry in the Woods

3

A bird pecked around in the dirt. Carefully, he crept in the tall grass, brow narrow, hands pawing one step at a time across the earth.

"Ben!"

The bird leapt and fluttered; Ben popped up from the grass, distraught, before whipping his head to the cave. "What?!"

"Come here!"

"But—I—!" Ben grumbled. Reluctantly, he loped away to the hill, padding inside on all fours.

Allan swept his arms in span of the space. "What is all this?"

Ben glanced from rock to rock scattering the floor. "A collection."

"Everywhere we sleep? Stand to form a pile, at least," his guardian instructed. He wrinkled his nose. "And do there have to be so many?"

Ben observed which ones he plucked in his hands. "They're nice." At a wrong step on a jagged stone, he shook out his foot.

Allan looped around and tilted his head at it. "Wouldn't you rather some shoes?"

"No!" Ben dropped his rocks and grinned up. "I like being barefoot! I can climb this way!"

"I climb plenty fine with shoes." Allan's head jerked up from the mentioned. "The hell are you climbing?"

Ben clattered a mass of stone. "Trees."

"Ben—agh, I told you, I don't want you climbing the trees," Allan chided. "That's a far drop for you."

"I can take it!"

"No you can't, you little mushroom." Allan poked him, and he giggled, rolling around and darting beneath the elder of them. The elder smirked. "So soft, delicate, and squashible—!"

Ben was pinned and helpless to tickling. Laughs were harvested, and with a satisfactory huff, Allan slid back to rest on the floor.

"Rrr!" Ben pounced. The snarl of his teeth leaked a smile as he scrabbled across his guardian's back, growling, raking curled fingers down his clothes.

Allan peeked past low eyelids. "Is it possible you run out of gumption?"

Ben dropped into view from overhead. A childish roar poured from his jaws as he gnashed them in Allan's face.

Allan shooed him, but the child hitched his stubby teeth onto his arm and tumbled with its motion. Allan rolled his eyes and humored him.

"Come on!" Ben knelt and shoved his shoulders. "Don't give up!"

"You won, you won," Allan excused.

Ben flopped onto his back. "Sure I did."

Allan dipped and nuzzled him. At last, they settled, the elder resting his eyes while the boy cuddled beside him.

The both of them stirred. There was a chirping; a chatter. Something ironing the underbrush with clumsy, brash steps.

Allan rose and spied through the mouth. Ben slipped after him, standing beneath his stomach, skull against his sternum. 

"Is it men?" he peeped.

An exhale faintly flared Allan's nostrils.

"Allan," Ben pulled on the collar of his shirt, "Allan, do you think they have weapons? Do they have... what was it? The, the sharp ones, the—swords! Do they—?"

"Don't worry," Allan murmured, pushing his face behind in forward stride.

"Allan!" Ben bumbled after his tail. "Will—?"