Young Writers Society

No rations. They had traveled with only short breaks in search of food again in these high altitudes, but found nothing for nearly a week. The little black billy lay against his mother's leg crying quietly and holding his stomach, but he dare not make much more of a sound. She gently hushed him, rubbing his arm, and his shoulder, not daring to touch his stomach for fear of making him hungrier. Even he'd found food scarce as they didn't let him go out to hunt himself.

Punishment, he had to stay with the women and fight for the family, always for the family. He couldn't do anything against the family.

"Ma," he bade her quietly, "I'm hungry."

"I know little one, I know. Stay strong, alright?" she wiped a tear away from her eye looking through the camp at the other strange forms laying on the ground. Another mother lay near the weakest, the tan, who'd taken sick to stop them in a little valley trailing down the mountain cliff. He groaned and barely woke now, still starving. It had been nearly two months since a good meal before the eagles had taken what they had for tidings. Now, it felt as if they'd been traveling without a kill for three because of the loss of their rations.

"I'm sorry, ma, I'm sorry." the black billy cried, wiping at his eyes too. "I'm sorry. When I die, you can have me, you and the family," he tried to say, but he was weak. She didn't understand.

Tears flooded down her cheeks as he tugged himself closer to her warmth, but even she was shivering in the lonely night. The mother tugged the small child into her lap, gently shushing and petting him until she fell asleep in the middle of the night.

A scream awoke her. The mother laying with the tan was sobbing hysterically and jerking about shaking her finger and pointing towards the dead man. It takes a lot to starve to death, the family found out, but he'd been saving his rations as best he could for later, instead of eating them, and even the rations were slim.

Pointing, sobbing, and shaking, the group gathered around to stare in horror at their future, unless, perhaps, they could do something?

The little billy sank to his knees and forced his pinkies against the hard cold earth, bowing his head low against his triangle, putting his butt in the air.

Unnatural as it was, it was all he could do. Crying shook his weak frame as he struggled to rise. A mother wrapped her arm around him and gently pulled the youngest away, putting him aside like a doll. He lay speechless and horrified as the family began to pray aloud, singing their spirits, and calling for religion in the face of this.

He couldn't watch as they dismembered his family. Shaking sobs wracked his form as he heard the cracking and snapping from dislocating shoulders, and hips, or knees. He wanted to turn off his ears as he heard them pulling the skin off his flesh, and cut off his nose as they began a fire. The little black billy ran away to wretch when the family began the pot.

As the smell of smoke and cooking meat filled the air making his stomach growl like the beast it was, he couldn't stay. Pushing his feet against the ground, he found himself running before he knew he had balance.

The billy ran for what felt like days as the stars spun around the skies, and he slid down slides of rocks, and leapt off cliffs hoping to die, and ran along the beaten trails hoping to be killed. The little black billy was so void of thought, of attention, he ran headlong into a tall black cloaked figure's back.

The boy, halted by an object of greater force, lay spread eagle on the ground and stared up at the tall man who gradually turned around. Appraising purple eyes gazed down at him, with the hooked smile of a mischievous man. His skin was smooth, like glass, and his hair was silk against his skull beneath the cloak's hood. Covering his neck was a soft white scarf, more than the little billy had ever seen in his times among those who had fur to clothe their torsos. Gaping, he shook and pulled himself up, scratching his legs and arms against the rocks as he pushed back.

Hurriedly, the cloaked man descended on him like a viper to prey, and he was at once hoisted by his arms as if a doll on display. The struggle was out of him. He lay limply, tears matting his face. "Just do it already!" he yelled at the man in front of him. "Just do it!" he cried again.

"Do what?" asked the cool breathy voice of the doctor, who could barely hide his grin. His lips twitched down with the effort as his wide eyes appraised the creature he'd found in the bush.

"Just kill me already!" the little billy struggled, tossing his arms and legs around.

"Ah," the burly man replied. "I'm Doctor."

The billy sagged in awe, His eyes widened and his flap-jaw couldn't form words. He fell on his butt when he was set back on his feet again, and Doctor chuckled. He smirked down at the kid. "You? But the Doctor is a legend about this guy who goes around saving people after Beast or Shadow try to kill them."

Doctor knelt down in front of the kid resting his hands on his knees, tucked against his side. "I do," he agreed. "They're not the only people I help though. I also help the starving, and the sick," he reached out, jetting his elbows to the side and shoving his right hand under the billy's arms first, then scooping him up with the left too. "and the mentally ill," he added as he stood holding the kid at arm's length again, "and you."

"Me?" the little goat sniffed, blinking away tears. "Why would you help me?"

The doctor tucked the kid against his side and reached into his coat. "I could kill you if I fed you too much. You look like a starved rat. It will be fun to see what the balance is."

A comforting dread sank over the little black billy goat as he accepted an entire half a chunk of bread! He downed it with a ravenous starvation.

"I wonder what they'll name you," he touched the kid's nose.