The unspoken spoken

"The dog is bad" the man said.

"Was anyone harmed? Did it draw blood?" asked the old woman.

"No. But I know dogs. It will get worse, if it isn't dealt with."

The boy willed the dog not to growl or bark. He sent it thoughts of the place by the river where the dog slept in the sun while the boy fished. The dog shifted and yawned.

The man and the old woman looked at the dog.

"It's the boy's protector" she said "it brought him here."

"There are other children to protect" the man said.

It was true, what the old woman said. The dog had brought the boy. It had known, then, to lay down, to take the lesser risk of showing itself defenceless to the pack of camp dogs. Even so, if people had not been present, they might have ripped it apart. When the boy stumbled out of the forest, the pack had already moved from aggression to curiosity. They let the dog up, to run to the boy, to mediate.

But it became fiercer. It perceived threats where there were none, growling and nipping at other children and adults, erupting in fury if anyone came near the boy.

The old woman placed her hand on the boy's head.

"I'll be watching that dog" the man said, before leaving.

No-one knew where the boy came from. Scarred, and half-starved. The people had tried colours and scented smoke to bring back the lost parts of his spirit, but nothing worked. They marked and painted him with wards, so the spirits of those who drove him into the wilds could not find him, or them. He played and learned with the other children, but spoke little, although he understood language.

The image of the man approaching, club in hand, woke the boy. He looked at the dog, who was awake. The boy frowned. He had learned the difference between 'now' and 'future' in the dog's thoughts. This was future. But not far off.

The dog glanced at him. Those images again. The path beyond the river, the old man under the hill. The boy closed his eyes and pushed thoughts of his scars, of his bag and the box of embers, of the forest. He hesitated to move into the future without knowing his past. He could remember nothing. But the dog eluded his questioning thoughts.

It whined softly. It sent the images again, to the river, into the forest, find the hill where the old man lived. The boy got up, sat with his back to a rock and watched the sky begin to lighten.

Two days later, the dog was chased from the camp. Another child had pushed the boy playfully, and there, suddenly, was the dog, and the child’s ear was torn.

The bag the boy brought with him had remained in his sleeping space, in the broad cave’s mouth. He couldn't remember how he came to have the bag, and it didn't feel as if it was his. The bark box which had held embers wrapped in leaves now contained only dry flakes.

He found leaves. Legs shaking, he walked up to the fire.

"I will go fishing, early. Maybe I will make fire, by the river" He mumbled. The women tending the fire said nothing as he rolled some embers into the leaves, then wrapped these around it and put the package in the box. He would need smoke, to get honey, to pay the old man.

The dog bounded out of trees when he approached the riverbank, as he knew it would. They followed the path made by deer for a day and a night.

The old man’s hair was white, long and festooned with teeth, feathers and beads. He looked at the boy, and at the dog, and motioned them inside the hill. The boy took wrapped honeycomb from his bag.

Inside, light percolated through long holes, as if insects thicker than a man's arm had burrowed through the stone walls. The boy wondered if the solitary man had forgotten how to speak. It would not be so bad, not to speak, he thought. The dog sat, its tail wagging.

Then the old man gave the boy something to drink. A dark liquid, with an earthy odour, in a small clay cup. He took the boy’s fire, placed it on the floor between them, and held things to it that sputtered with brief flames and smelled of the forest. The boy became drowsy. The man began to chant, softly. Smoke curled and swam in the air.

The dog spoke. The boy looked without opening his eyes. The hill and the old man were gone. He could see the dog, but not as people see.

"Tell me where I come from," he said.

"I cannot speak of it"

“Why did you take me to the people?”

“So you would have a choice”

"What is your name?"

The dog bounded away, seeming then to be everywhere at once. It gave its name, but not in words.

"What is my name?"

"Look"

Out of the movement and motion came an image. There was a young man, tall and strong, and the boy knew it to be himself. With him were a woman and a child, his child. Forms and shapes moved in the background. The boy and his family were among them, the people.

The boy gaped, his mouth dry. He felt the pulse tick in his throat. He could not find words or even thoughts to shape what he felt.

The dog was around him again, everywhere, and then back in front of him, seeming both smaller and larger.

"We cannot return. They will kill you."

"You understand the meaning of my name?" The dog said.

The boy nodded. “You have chosen. I must choose.”

“He will teach you, if you wish it”

“Then we stay”.