He paused, ears flicking at the faint, broken sob that trembled through the undergrowth. The air was thick with the scent of crushed clover, wildflowers, and something sour—fear, maybe, or the sharp tang of old tears. Yuji’s hooves pressed into the cool, damp earth, the chill seeping up his legs and making him shiver.

He crept forward, brambles tugging at his fur, until he found a hollow beneath a bush. The shadows were deep here, the light dappled and green. A yearling huddled in the gloom, dust clinging to his coat, ribs showing with every shaky breath. The kid’s eyes were swollen and red, his nose wet, and the air around him carried a salty, animal musk.

Do goats even cry? Yuji wondered, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of fear and loneliness. Maybe they do. Or maybe I’m just lucky enough to find the one goat who does. He remembered the mission: make a friend. Easier said than done… but maybe this is my shot.

Most of the herd called him “outsider,” their voices always a little too loud, their stares lingering a little too long. Even the one goat who’d shown him kindness had vanished before Yuji could ask why he was so hated. Maybe this kid knows. Or maybe he just needs someone to listen.

Yuji hesitated, the sight tugging at something raw inside him. The yearling’s sides quivered, and every breath sounded like it hurt. Poor kid. I should help. Or at least try. Maybe I can use this for the mission, but… damn, he looks miserable.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice soft, gentle, and as unthreatening as possible. “Hey… are you alright?” His words came out low, almost a bleat, and he tried to keep his body language loose—ears down, tail still, head slightly lowered.

The yearling jerked upright, hooves scrabbling in the dirt, eyes wide and wild. His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “Go away! I know what you’re going to say. Everyone does. I’m cursed. I ruin everything. I am not going back, no matter what you say.” His breath came in short, sharp bursts, and he pressed himself deeper into the roots, trembling so hard Yuji could see the shivers ripple through his fur.

Yuji took a slow step back, lowering his head even more. Easy, Yuji. Don’t spook him. He’s more scared than you are. He let the silence stretch, listening to the yearling’s ragged breathing, the soft rustle of leaves, the distant bleat of the herd.

He tried again, voice even softer. “I’m not here to drag you anywhere. I just… heard you crying. Thought maybe you could use some company. Or at least someone who won’t call you names.” He let his words hang in the air, hoping the kid would believe him.

The yearling sniffled, wiping his nose on his foreleg. “You’re lying. Everyone lies. They say they want to help, but they just want me gone.” His voice was small, but there was a flicker of hope—or maybe just exhaustion-in his eyes.

Yuji settled onto the cool earth, careful not to get too close. “I get it. I’m the outsider, remember? They don’t like me either. Maybe we can just… sit here. Not talk, if you don’t want to.” He let his ears droop, showing he meant no harm.

The yearling watched him, silent, but his breathing slowed. The scent of fear faded, replaced by something softer—uncertainty, maybe, or the faintest hint of trust.

Yuji settled onto the cool earth, feeling the roughness of pebbles and the soft give of damp soil beneath his belly. The ground was cold, almost soothing, and the scent of crushed clover and wildflowers mingled with the sharper tang of fear in the air. Each breath filled his nostrils with the freshness of grass and the faint musk of another goat’s anxiety. Above, the wind whispered through the grass, carrying distant bleats and the delicate flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

He kept his body low, careful not to crowd the yearling. If I had a blade of grass in my mouth, I’d look like some wise old goat, helping out juniors in need. Maybe next time. Yuji’s ears drooped, unconsciously mirroring the yearling’s posture.

The young goat huddled deeper into the hollow, hooves digging at the dirt, tail twitching with every shaky breath. His ears flicked back and forth, catching every sound, and his eyes darted away from Yuji’s gaze. “I try to be good,” the yearling whispered, voice trembling. “My mother doesn’t want to talk to me. She said I’m not her son. The others say I’m bad luck. They hurt me. They don’t want to eat with me or play. They say I’m cursed.” He pawed at the ground, tracing a nervous, wobbly line in the dust.

Damn, that’s rough. I thought I had it bad, but this kid… Yuji’s own ears flattened in empathy, and he felt a tightness in his chest he hadn’t expected. How do goats even recognize their mothers in a crowd? I’d be lost in a sea of identical faces. At least I can pick out the old man and that young leader, only because they stand out.

Yuji let out a slow breath, feeling the cool air tickle his nose. “I know what it’s like to run away,” he said softly, his voice gentle and steady. “I didn’t want to go back either. But maybe… maybe we can figure it out together.” He kept his tone low, almost a whisper, hoping not to spook the kid.

The yearling’s ears twitched again, and he wiped his nose with a foreleg, sniffling as he tried to regain his composure. For a long moment, neither spoke. Yuji watched as the kid nibbled nervously at a vine leaf, as if trying to distract himself from his pain. The air between them was filled with the soft rustle of grass and the distant calls of the herd.

“Do you really think so?” the yearling asked, voice barely above the breeze, eyes finally meeting Yuji’s for a heartbeat.

Yuji nodded, letting his own ears droop in solidarity. Yeah, kid. I really do. Or at least, I want to believe it.