Chapter 6

  ~ The Bonds of Family ~

  The hill’s crest appeared ahead, dotted with crooked trees and scattered boulders, like familiar markers along the climb. His boots sank slightly into the damp earth as he pulled himself up by an old orientation table that still stood proudly. The stone steps were too big for him, but after countless trips, he knew every uneven spot. Just a few more steps. Today, though, each one felt heavier as a deep sense of loneliness weighed over him. More than usual.

  That is why he had come here seeking solace. Hoping the view might fill the ache a little.

  At the top, he could overlook the entire patchwork of rooftops, from the roof of his home to those of other houses nestled in the surrounding neighbourhood. And behind him, his companion followed, trailing in its usual steady way which offered some kind of comfort. Yet, it wasn’t the same. Dog was a friend, and he longed for family.

  Dog’s black, plastic legs extended in smooth movements, adjusting to the rocky slope. Its triangular cardboard panels wobbled awkwardly on the front, yet its rectangular white frame stayed perfectly still. But as always, he had won the race to the top, so he stopped to catch his breath and look down at the city below. There, the clouds hung low, softening the edges until they looked dreamlike. Almost like a painting. One where the world stood still under an endless sky.

  He dropped onto his usual bench, the dampness seeping through his clothes, and set his backpack beside him. His gaze shifted from one block to another, scrutinising the roads. Would he even recognise her if he saw her again? Her face had grown blurry in his mind, and yet he scanned the empty streets with a habit he couldn’t shake. Other people were rare here anyway.

  A faint whirring pulled him from his thoughts as Dog clambered onto the bench beside him. Its plastic body shifted to find balance on the damp wood. He leaned back, resting his hand on Dog’s head, feeling the smooth surface under his palm. “It’s quiet, right, Dog?” he whispered, with half a smile.

  Only, his friend never knew how to answer.

  In the hush, his thoughts wandered back to her, and a tune slipped out. “Far away the mountains sing, but no one hears a single thing ~” The lullaby was like a thread linking him to her. To the times when she would sing it softly to carry him into sleep. Even now, he could almost feel her hand pulling him out into the cold, the wind tugging at them both, while he grumbled and dragged his feet. “The world’s still here, Milo. Never let the clouds make you think otherwise,” she’d say.

  He closed his eyes, letting the memory settle, grounding him like the soft pressure of her hand once had.

  His fingers found the edge of his frayed scarf in a quiet ritual. Its colour had dulled, but once, it had been the same bright red as berries. She would wrap it snugly around his neck, pulling him close and pointing out the rooftops below. “See that one? A family of four lived there, always screaming. And that one, with the blue door, was full of plants like a whole little forest.”

  She could paint the city alive with her stories, her words steady as if the world would always stay as she said. His little heart ached from the memory. Milo missed the gentle steadiness she offered. An anchor in his small world.

  He opened his teary eyes, taking in the familiar skyline. Sometimes, Milo came here to remember, like if he stayed long enough, she might appear on the path below. Smiling.

  She might one day. So he waited on their favourite bench for her return.

  The wind whipped cold against his cheeks as he barrelled downhill, leaning into the descent with all his weight. This was his favourite part. The thrill of going faster until everything blurred around him. Until it was just him and the wild rush of speed.

  Bursting from a thicket of bushes, he stumbled onto a muddy path. Each step made a satisfying squelch as his boots sank and lifted with a pop. Ahead, he spotted a half-buried wooden plank protruding from the mud. A grin spread across his face. Perfect.

  He quickly wedged it flat and hopped on, letting the slick, muddy path do the rest. The makeshift sledge shot forward, mud splattering around him. He made his way down the hill, picking up speed until a clod of dirt flicked right into his eye. He jerked back to try and rub it away, blinking through the sting. But just as he did it, the plank wobbled, and his grip slipped. As he fought to keep balance, he felt himself twisting around.

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  The makeshift sledge turned sharply, and he let out a small yelp when his arms hit the ground, scraping through the mud and slowing him down. The slide came to an abrupt stop against something soft. A tingle of surprise prickled up his spine.

  He blinked, trying to make sense of the shape before him. Two stubby horns darkened with mud, and a single black eye stared back emptily. His gaze traced downwards. There, a thick red line trickled from a fuzzy neck, pooling around a rough wooden stake that jutted upward. Milo swallowed, the metallic smell twisting his stomach.

  “Did you see where it dropped?” a deep voice called out, close. Just beyond the trees.

  Milo’s heart leapt. He fought the urge to bolt, knowing the movement would give him away. Instead, he crouched low behind the fallen creature, then darted a glance up the path he’d come from. His companion was nowhere in sight, and without Milo’s order, Dog would eventually come running in this direction. Leaves rustled nearby with a crunch of footsteps. There was no time to worry about that now.

  Milo pressed his hand against the ground and edged back, inching towards a cluster of bushes. Just like hide and seek. But this time, the stakes were higher. He ducked low, leaves brushing against his face, and tried to stay quiet. From his hiding place, his vision was obscured; only fragments of the muddy path were visible through a thin screen of branches. But he saw the figure. A shadow stretched out across the ground, flickering with the movement of leaves in the dappled light. Whoever it was, they were just a few steps away.

  “Found it.” The voice came again, satisfied.

  There was a grunt, followed by the sound of something heavy scraping across the ground. Milo held his breath, straining to see through the gaps in the bushes. All he could make out was a pair of boots, thick with clumps of dried mud. He pressed himself further into the leaves, feeling every twig and brittle edge dig into his cheek. He watched, counting each heartbeat as the man turned, his pace slowing now, and began walking back the way he’d come.

  A low clatter shattered the quiet.

  The man halted, and Milo felt his stomach plummet. No. Not now. A flash of white at the edge of his vision, stark against the shadows, told him everything he didn’t want to see. Dog had stumbled out from the bushes. His mechanical friend’s foot had caught on a rock, and his frame jerked awkwardly, struggling to restore balance.

  “Hey! Come check this out!” the man called, his voice booming from the forest. He dropped the deer with a wet thud.

  Milo’s mind whirled, his heart was hammering so hard he feared they’d hear it. Run, Dog! His fists were clenched, his body coiled, and he was twitching with the urge to leap out and do something. He felt a swell of desperate, helpless anger. He wished someone would burst out right then and there, like the heroes in his stories. Wished that someone would find a way to save his friend. But he could only watch, powerless, as the man closed in.

  Fingers curling around one of Dog’s legs and lifting it roughly to its head, the stranger inspected his new catch. Everything went quiet again, the forest holding its breath along Milo.

  After some time, the men regrouped with a rough cheer. Their cries were triumphant as they gathered around the spoils. Laughter cut through the trees while they inspected the animal. It clashed with the low, helpless whirrs from Dog. Milo’s eyes were fixed on his friend, limp in the man’s grip, dangling like a scrap of metal and plastic. Like a toy.

  The man holding Dog gave a satisfied chuckle, holding up his prize for the others to see, as if he’d won some treasure. A jagged scar split across his left eye, giving him the signature look of a villain right from Milo’s stories, who could hardly contain himself. Dog looked so small in that man’s hand. So terribly helpless. Everything about his companion —the little whirrs, the way it followed him faithfully through every hill and every danger—reminded him that he couldn’t protect his friend.

  His instincts screamed to slink back into the underbrush, to melt into the ground and wait until they passed. Stay safe, beware of strangers. But something else slowly took hold; an unfamiliar feeling, raw and fierce, coiling tightly around his chest. He’d never felt this way. I can’t let them take you.

  Not this time. This was his friend. And he had to find answers to all the questions that haunted him. The strange men he had seen. But more than that, he had to get Dog back. They dragged the deer along the muddy path with careless footsteps, pushing deeper into the woods, and his will strengthened.

  Milo weakly crept out from his hiding place and stood shakily. Her warnings, the constant reminders to stay hidden and be careful, all told him to let Dog go and escape while he could. But his only friend had always followed him. Never once asking why.

  More than a friend, Dog was family.

  Milo’s hands were caked in mud, but he brushed them off on his pants. Distressed whirrs cut through the air, and his chest ached in response. As he took his first step into the forest, the sky split with a growl. Thunder rolled across the protesting clouds. Drops of water slapped against his skin from the heavy rains that now lashed over the woods. He tucked his chin into the folds of his scarf, the fabric a reminder of what he willed to risk.

  At that moment, he felt something shift inside. There was no one else here, no one to protect Dog or stand in his place. He stepped forward, melting in the shadows with a quiet determination. A pearl of tear slid lonely on his cheek.

  If no one else would help… he would have to be the hero.

  ***