Yuji nodded, the pebble and dry leaf prickling beneath his legs as he tried to ignore the gnawing ache in his belly. "I do. Sometimes the ones who don't fit in are the ones who can see things others can't. Maybe we just need to stick together," he said softly, watching the yearling's reaction.
The kid's chewing slowed. He looked up, ears flicking forward, curiosity flickering in his eyes for the first time. "Why are you out here all alone? Did they leave you out too? Who hurt you?" His voice was small but hopeful.
Yuji's jaw tightened. A flicker of irritation. Come on, kid. Why so many questions? Just say you want to be friends so I can finish this mission and find something to eat. His gaze darted to the timer—fifty minutes left. The numbers glowed, pulsing. Each second thudded in his chest. It's running out faster than I thought. The pain's getting worse. This isn't just hunger. It's a countdown to failure.
His stomach cramped. The ache twisted sharper as he watched the yearling munch on the vine with innocent joy. Why can't I enjoy that vine? He swallowed, mouth dry, jaw tight. Hunger bit down. Hard.
He shifted, the rough ground digging into his legs. The air was thick with greenery and something faintly sweet, almost mocking, given the emptiness in his gut. Yuji forced himself to meet the yearling's gaze. He drew in a shaky breath, letting the cool air tickle his nose as he glanced up at the sky. He decided to put a little more emotion into his next words, hoping it would move things forward. "The herd blamed me for something I didn't do. Said I was cursed, too. So I left. Didn't want to, but I couldn't stay where I wasn't wanted." His voice was low, the words weighed down by memory and fatigue.
The yearling's eyes widened, soft and understanding, his tail flicking nervously. "You left everyone! I wish I could leave, too. But I'm scared. I don't even know where to go," he whispered, voice trembling.
Yuji nudged a small stone toward him, the rough edge scraping against his hoof—a playful gesture, hoping to break the tension. The stone settled between them, its rough edges worn smooth by storms. Maybe that's what friendship is—a little battered, a little chipped, but something you can hold onto when the world turns cold.
He let the silence linger, watching the kid process his words. "It's scary, but it's not so bad when you have someone with you. Even just one friend can make a difference. So what if the others rejected you? So what if they say they don't want to play with you? I'm here. We can play together and support each other. You don't need to go back. They might be bad, but I'm good, and I'll play with you. We'll be a team. Friends protect each other," Yuji said, warmth threading through his words.
The yearling hesitated, then inched closer, eyes darting to Yuji's, searching for any sign of a trick. After a moment, he nudged the stone back, a careful push. His ears perked up, hope flickering across his face. He looked to Yuji, shy but determined.
Yuji's chest tightened, and he gave a small, genuine nod. "Yes," he said softly, letting the moment settle.
A beat passed. Yuji watched the kid, saw the relief in his posture, and felt a faint smile tug at his lips. Damn, kid, why so shy? It's just about playing. I get it, though—you've probably wanted a friend for a long time. Lucky for both of us, I'm helping a lonely kid and getting my mission done at the same time. Win-win, right?
He nudged the stone back again, letting the moment linger. The dry leaf under his hoof crunched, grounding him in the present. The distant bleats of the herd and the rustle of leaves overhead wove together, a gentle backdrop to this fragile new bond. For the first time since waking up as a goat, Yuji felt something like hope flicker in his chest.
Suddenly, a sharp cry echoed across the meadow, half warning, half challenge. Yuji's ears twitched, the peace between him and the kid suddenly as fragile as morning mist. What now? he wondered, nostrils flaring as the scent from earlier grew stronger, almost electric in the air. He tried to ignore both the cry and the scent, and focus on what was in front of him.
He shook off the tension, forcing a playful note into his voice. "Yes, I'll be your friend. And you should remember this: friends never ask the same thing twice. That's rule number one. You have to remember and follow it, alright?"
"No. 1 rule: never ask your friend a question a second time," the yearling repeated, then nodded with surprising determination. "What are the other rules I should follow?"
Yuji let a smile slip in, genuinely amused by the kid's earnestness. "For now, that's it. I'll tell you more as we go. By the way, I don't know your name. Mine's Yuji. That's another rule—friends have to know each other's names," he added, his voice softening.
The yearling hesitated, ears drooping, tail still. "I… I never had one. Not really. Just 'hey you' or worse." His voice was barely a whisper, and his body seemed to shrink even smaller, as if bracing for disappointment.
Yuji blinked, surprised. A goat without a name? That's new. I thought everyone here had one… He scratched his ear, then grinned. "That's not right. How about I give you a name? Though, fair warning, I'm terrible at this," he muttered, hoping the kid didn't hear.
"You will give me a name? I have my own name?" His ears perked up, tail giving a hopeful flick, and his whole body seemed to lean forward, tension melting away as he waited for Yuji's answer.
Yuji looked out across the meadow, feeling the sun on his face and the breeze ruffle his fur. The sparrows swooped low, their song bright and clear. Inspiration struck. "How about Bojo? It sounds strong, and a little mischievous. I think it suits you," he said, smiling.