Her fingers trembled against his cheek.
And the world unraveled.
Smoke became sunlight.
Blood became dust.
And Sheila was ten again.
---
The trees rustled gently just outside the village, where the shouting had finally gone quiet.
Sheila peeked out from behind a wide trunk, clutching a basket of herbs she was supposed to be picking. What she found instead was a ring of boys groaning in the dirt—and one standing in the middle, panting hard.
Kael.
He was scrawny, barefoot, his shirt torn at the collar. His fists were clenched, his lip was bleeding, and his eyes burned with something that scared most people.
The chief's son lay on his back, nose crooked and tears in his eyes.
"You're crazy!" he cried. "You're a freak!"
Kael didn't answer. He just stood there, breathing like a cornered animal, waiting to see if they'd come at him again.
They didn't.
The boys scattered, dragging themselves back to the village.
When it was finally quiet, Kael sat down on a rock near the stream and dunked his hands into the water with a hiss.
Sheila crept closer, then stepped out where he could see her.
"You okay?"
He blinked at her, suspicious. "What do you want?"
"Nothing," she said, stepping closer. "You're bleeding."
Kael looked at his knuckles. "It'll stop."
She rummaged in her basket and pulled out a clean cloth. "Here."
He hesitated, then took it.
"You always fight like that?" she asked, plopping down beside him.
"Like what?"
"Like a wild animal."
Kael stared. "...What?"
She grinned. "It worked, though."
He tried to hide the way his mouth twitched. "They started it."
"I know. That's why I didn't yell at you."
He gave her a suspicious look. "You're weird."
"Takes one to know one." She chuckled.
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the stream. A bird chirped nearby. The village felt far away.
"You really not scared of me?" Kael asked quietly.
She shrugged. "You didn't hit me."
He thought about that.
"Maybe I could be your friend," she said suddenly. "If you want."
Kael didn't say anything for a long moment. Then: "…Okay."
---
The woods behind the village were quiet, the stream babbling softly over smooth stones. Kael sat hunched, arms wrapped around himself, dried blood crusting his knuckles. Sheila sat nearby, flicking pebbles into the water.
Neither spoke.
Then came footsteps—several of them. Heavy, purposeful.
"You little animal!" the chief's wife screeched, storming into the clearing.
She was a tall, sharp-faced woman draped in silk that looked too fine for village life, her hair pinned in gold and her fingers heavy with rings.
Behind her came the village chief himself, looking grim.
His coat swayed behind him, boots muddied, face drawn tight. At his side lurked his son, scowling, nose swollen and bruised.
"You dare lay your filthy hands on my son?!" she pointed at Kael like he was a rat to be crushed. "He broke his nose!"
"They started it!" Kael snapped, fists clenched. His eyes were wild—not with guilt, but fury.
The woman ignored him completely, turning to her husband.
"I want him punished. Now. Or so help me, I will do it myself!"
The chief let out a long breath. He looked at his wife, then at the boy still nursing a bruised ego behind her.
His gaze finally landed on Kael—but there was no judgment, only tiredness.
"Kael, you've crossed a line," he said, low and resigned. "Come with me."
Before Kael could move, Sheila stepped in front of him.
"No." Her voice shook, but she didn't step back. "He was just defending himself."
"Sheila, move," the chief said, a warning in his tone.
"I… I won't." She swallowed, her legs trembling beneath her. "You'd have done the same if it was your son surrounded by three bullies." Her eyes flicked to the chief's wife. "Maybe ask your son why Kael hit him."
The woman's face turned to stone, lips thinning. "This girl dares—!"
The chief's son scowled from behind his parents, rubbing at his face. "She's lying," he sneered. "He attacked us first! We were just trying to teach him a lesson."
"Enough," the chief snapped.
He looked down at Kael, then back to his wife. "He'll get a warning. Nothing more."
His wife's eyes burned with rage. "He has to be punished, Eamon! He's dangerous!"
The chief exhaled sharply, clearly torn. "This is a village, not a jungle," he muttered, jaw tight. "If we let this go, we'll set the wrong example."
Sheila stepped closer to Kael, her voice smaller now, but no less steady.
"Then you set the example." Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "You're supposed to lead by example—are you going to punish him for defending himself?"
The chief sighed heavily, his gaze flicking between his wife and Sheila.
His shoulders sagged as he lowered his head.
"Sheila… this isn't just about fairness. It's about peace. If I don't do something, people will talk. They'll blame me for protecting him."
"Then let them," Sheila said, her voice unwavering. "You're the chief, right? You're supposed to protect everyone—even the ones who are different."
The woman's lips curled. "You're just a child. What do you know?"
"I know Derek's wrong," Sheila said, louder than before, her voice cracking. "But I also know Kael is my friend. And I won't let you take him."
A long silence followed.
The chief looked at Kael, then at Sheila. His shoulders sagged further.
"…Go home," he said at last, his voice softer, more resigned.
"What?" his wife hissed, incredulous.
He glanced at her, a quiet tension in his gaze. "We'll talk later. Not here."
He turned back to Kael. "Try not to give me another reason, boy."
The chief and his wife left, the son's eyes still burning with anger as he glared at Kael one last time.
---
Sheila let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
Kael stood frozen, staring at her like she'd grown wings.
"…Why did you do that?" he asked quietly.
Sheila sat down again, patting the spot beside her. "Because you looked like you needed someone."
Kael didn't move.
"Come on, let me show you something." She pulled a crumpled purple flower from her basket and held it out to him.
"Lesson one: when someone stands up for you, you don't just grunt. You say thank you—and you smile."
Kael took the flower with both hands, holding it delicately, like it might crumble in his fingers.
"…Thank you," he mumbled, the words awkward and unfamiliar.
Then, slowly, just barely—he smiled.
"See?" Sheila grinned. "Not so hard."
"You're crazy," he muttered. "They could've hurt you."
She shrugged. "Maybe. But everything turned out okay. Besides… you'd have done the same for me."
He looked away, his mouth twitching. "Yeah… maybe. You're still weird, though."
She turned to him.
"In a good way," he added quickly, face turning red.
"I know. Weird doesn't mean bad," she said, smiling.
---
They didn't make promises.
They didn't say forever.
But that was the day Kael learned what a friend could be.
Not a voice in his head. Not a monster inside.
Just a kid beside a stream—who saw him.