I can't remember why I left my home, I just did. It was the heart of winter as I hurried across the fields outlining my house. By the little row of trees, I saw Dylan wandering around on his own.
"Hey, Dylan." I called.
"There you are." He skipped over, smiling slightly lopsidedly. I smiled back.
"What are you doing out here?"
"Dunno." He mumbled, "Feeling sad."
"Can I show you something," I bent down and whispered in his ear, "It's a secret."
"Dylan likes secrets. Dylan's good at keeping secrets." Earnestly he nodded.
"Come on then."
He followed me up a track and across another field.
For an hour while I sketched, Dylan walked around the tree stump, touching every branch every leaf. This I ignored, he was always indulging in silly fantasies.
"They've been here."
"Who?" I asked, still absorbed in my drawing.
"Them." He hissed with such malice that I looked up.
"They came here. They invaded it. They came near our Dana," He recited my name, "They smelled her. They touched her." He growled at something, "Our people must know. We must know." He sprinted out of the clearing.
"Dill! Wait!" I scrambled up after him, my pens spilt across the ground.
"They mustn't have our Dana, not our Dana."
"Them!" He wheeled around to face me.
I sensed his truth, but felt too stupid to admit it.
"Let's go home now. It's cold."
"Yes, home. Home, us, home, us."
Chanting that all the way, we made it back into our small town neighbourhood and I knocked on Dylan's front door.