A group of men, wearied and gaunt, came by cart.

When they saw what had become of the village, they howled, some of them dropping to their knees and raving.

The little thing was cautious of them, as it was cautious of all men; had been so since they kicked it around when it was but a kitten.

Still, it hungered for scraps, for companionship, so it stuck its head out from the brush, watching them.

When they saw it, though, one of them cried out, and got up to chase it. It was bad at recalling faces; perhaps the scent was familiar? Either way, it was spooked, and it ran away, becoming even more frightened as this one chased after it. Not knowing what to do, it ran to the ruins of its old house; still, it was chased, so it ran further, down the hill and into the wood, to hide by its strange thing's bones.

Yet still, it was followed, and this time, the man cried out even louder, falling to his knees and clutching at the worn grey fabric that ensconced the skeleton.

The little thing stood at a distance and watched it reproachfully; it felt indignant that this man had disturbed its companion's sleep, but the man was too big for the little thing to do anything about it. He picked up the strange thing's skull, wefts of gold hair falling away, and began to cry, holding it close. The little thing could only stay far away and lash its tail as he gathered up the bones, sobbing and rocking them in an embrace.

From that night onward, it was driven away every time it approached; the man who stole its master's body only looked at it coldly, but some of the others cursed and threw rocks; one went so far as to shoot an arrow.

Bereft now of even its only companion, the little thing gave up, and retreated to the depths of the forest.

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