They managed to escape the man who had sat next to Rowan on the bench. There were few days in which Rowan didn’t have trouble avoiding thinking of him. The man seemed to haunt him, as did the words. His mother stayed furious with his father for being late picking Rowan up. She clung to her child harshly, squeezing him so hard that sometimes he felt like he was suffocating. The man (and weasel) who used to visit him every night was rarely seen now. Rowan at the very least knew he was still there because of the way he woke up with his hair brushed forward. The man always brushed his hair that way, said it looked good on him now that Rowan didn’t have longish hair.

But then one night the man didn’t come at all.

Or the next night.

On the fourth night they were leaving again, his father making the sidebar comment, “He’ll find us.”

The man who visited him at night, the one he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about, the one who brushed his hair forward while the weasel danced over him and burrowed in his pillow, didn’t visit him anymore after that.

Rowan missed the man dearly, missed the interaction between his parents even more. They were quieter now. They were tense from the time they woke up to the time they went to sleep. He didn’t go outside anymore without someone with him. He didn’t climb trees or go to school or leave home at all. He was to stay home with his mother.

While he didn’t miss the other kids, he missed not feeling so cooped up.

He made the comment once, “My feet are getting soft.” It was meant to start a conversation. Meant to probe them about the fact he never could go barefoot outside anymore. Meant to covertly ask why they were so afraid if they had managed to run away.

They never responded.

His mother went out earlier in the evening and returned later in the morning now.

She became more and more distant, speaking less and less. She still spoke, but not as often. Rowan began to entertain the words the man had shared with him those months ago. He began to wonder, to ponder, to consider.

He tried to shut them out as he had done before.

But it was getting harder.

--

Leah didn't tell her son as many stories as perhaps a mother should have. She hardly spoke to him anymore for that matter. She wasn't there for most of his bedtimes, and whenever she was she wasn't herself.

Erland usually left the door ajar for her just in case. Ever since Steven’s disappearance, her husband had taken up the position as sentinel over their child. He used to stay up working in the shop. These nights he could be found in a chair beside Rowan's bed.

Their son had kicked the blankets off and Erland was snoring loud enough that her pushing open the door didn't wake either of them.

The gray wolf padded towards the man and child, momentarily considering nosing Erland's knee until he woke. She knew better though. He tended to wake up and lurch left for his gun only to grab whatever was in reach. A book. A lamp. A pillow. It was best to let him sleep. A part of her wanted to awaken him specifically to scold him for his sleeping while guarding their child. But Rowan had been safe for over half a year now and she had been cruel to Erland for being forgetful the one time.

For endangering them the one time.

It only ever took one time.

The wolf approached the boy on the bed, resting her head on the mattress as gold, reflecting eyes stared at her son. A small whine left her throat as her tail wagged. Turning away, she lowered her head to pick up the blanket in her mouth. She struggled to get it fully on the bed. The least she could do was nose it over Rowan's feet before steadily pulling it up with her teeth.

She stopped and stepped back when the boy shifted. She watched as he rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up and with him of his own accord. Leah resumed resting her head on the mattress by her son's shoulder. She listened to him breathe, listened to both her remaining boys and monitored the rise and fall of their chests. Her ears didn't perk up until there was a spike Erland’s snoring. He was waking.

She almost left the room as he roused, but decided at last minute not to. Sitting on the floor at his feet, he blinked several times before taking in his wife’s form.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

She rarely spoke anymore, to Rowan or to Erland . . . .

But Erland leaned forward and scratched her between the ears and she leaned up into the scratches. She accepted the affections he showed her in this form, licking his palm and closing her eyes to lean into the hand.

She and Erland didn’t need to speak. They knew no matter how many mistakes they made, they were in this together. They would do everything in their power to protect their child.

By any means necessary, they would see that the man who had spoken to Rowan never found him again.