The boy nodded. His eyes were glazed, as if half asleep.
“Come on, then.” Coll led him out.
As they left, Farkas the cook laughed. “Got yourself a little pet piglet, eh?” he said.
Coll shook his head and scowled.
“Here,” he said, leading the boy through to a dorm room. “This is our den.”
The boy looked around. The room was small, just enough for ten sets of bunks. Coll said, “You’ll sleep here with us kids. When we’re fourteen we go with the bigger kids.”
The boy sat on a bunk.
“Not that one!” snapped Coll. The boy jumped as if stung. “Look, here.” He led him to one corner. “The top bunk is mine. You can have the bottom one.”
The boy sat on the bottom bunk. “On Boar we could sleep anywhere,” he said in a small voice.
“Boars are stupid and filthy and bathe in mud,” replied Coll. “On Wolf we do things right. This is your bunk. Nowhere else, understand?”
The boy nodded. Coll hesitated. He wasn’t sure how he expected the child to behave. He said, “There’s a shelf here. Anything you put there is safe – no one will touch it.”
The boy looked at it, and then down at his hand, still clutching the little bag. He didn’t move.
Coll frowned. “What’s in there, anyway?”
The boy gripped the bag tighter.
Coll raised his hands. “I won’t take it.”
The boy stared at him and bit his lip. Then he tipped the bag out on to his bunk. There was a little wooden boar’s head, and three water-smoothed pebbles, grey with swirling white, two large and one small.
“What are they?” asked Coll. He reached for one, but the boy clutched them. Coll pulled back. “It’s fine, really. Is it a game?” But they didn’t seem like game pieces. And there was something about the way he held them so tight… “What are they, then?”
The boy didn’t answer. He arranged the two larger pebbles on the bunk. He placed the smaller pebble between them and stared at them. It didn’t make sense to Coll, at first. Then he thought they looked like a little family. One baby pebble and two parents…
“Oh,” he said, finally understanding. Water dripped on to them, and he realised tears were rolling down the boy’s cheeks. He felt a sudden horrified panic. “Don’t cry!” he said in alarm.
The boy recoiled as if he thought Coll was going to hit him. His chest heaved with sobs, though he made no sound. Coll had no idea what to do. Rudy was away. Should he get Alpha? Farkas? Dolph? Anyone! “It’s all right!” he tried. “Well, no, it isn’t, but … but…”
He patted the boy’s shoulder awkwardly, then sat next to him on the bunk.
He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I suppose you’ve had a rough time.”
The boy didn’t answer.
Coll said, “I don’t know what happened. Happened before, I mean. But, look, that’s … that’s you before. It’s all right now. OK? So you can stop crying. Stop crying now.”
It didn’t seem to work. Coll had an idea. “Hey, look.” He reached round his neck and unfastened a chain. It held a small wooden carving of a wolf, and Coll showed it to the boy. “We are Wolf, understand?” Carefully he reached for the little boar’s head. The boy stiffened but said nothing, and Coll took the boar’s head and gave him the wolf chain instead.
“You’re with us now,” he said. “See? You’re Fillan now. You are Wolf. We are Wolf. We’ll look after you. Everything will be all right.”
The little boy sniffed and nodded. Gradually his chest stopped heaving. He nodded again. Then he suddenly wrapped his arms round Coll and gripped him in a fierce tight hug, pressing his damp face against Coll’s chest.
“Oh!” exclaimed Coll. “Um…” He patted the boy on the back, then prised him away and stood up, embarrassed. “Well,” he said gruffly, “yes, OK. Come on, I can’t hang around here all day.”
The boy Fillan put the pebbles back in his bag. He still held the bag tight, but he’d stopped crying. He looked up at Coll, sniffed and half smiled. “OK.”
Coll showed him where to wash and got him some new clothes to replace his filthy old Boar outfit. He seemed to like his new grey-black cloak, running his hands down it. Then Coll led him back to his bunk and he crept under the covers.
“Get some sleep,” said Coll, and turned to leave.
“Don’t go!” said Fillan, sounding scared again.
“I’ve got duties,” protested Coll. “I can’t spend all my time here with you.”
“Don’t go.”
Coll scowled. “One minute.” He sat on Fillan’s bunk. “That’s all, OK?”
“OK.”
Fillan closed his eyes. One hand reached out and found Coll’s and patted it. Coll sat, wondering what to do, but before the minute was up, Fillan’s breathing had deepened, and he was asleep. Coll crept out.
That evening, when everyone came to bed, Fillan was snoring. He was still holding tight to his little leather bag.
Coll climbed into his own bunk. He unclipped his leg and arm, sighing in relief as they came away, and rubbed the base of his stumps. Then he tucked the prosthetics on his shelf, lay back, and stared at the roof of the den, wondering what he had done.
