9/29/2026, 7:24 PM
Hàorán listened without moving—the lie was obvious.
Not cruelly so, not in the way an adult might recognize deliberate falsehood, but in the way a child's entire body betrays what their mouth insists upon. Of course she knew where home was. Yet her eyes kept finding the trees behind him as though she might have been trying to convince herself that the den—the home—was still there, waiting exactly where she had left it.
His gaze softened. No, he would not tell her that she was lost, would not tell her that she was alone. There was no reason to make the words sharper than they needed to be. And when she asked whether he would tell her mother, something quiet twisted through his chest. Hàorán's eyes shifted briefly toward the forest.
That familiar scent was still there, faint enough that he could almost convince himself it was only memory. A mother he could not name, a face he could not quite place. Whoever she was, she had left her pup behind. And whether she meant to return or not, he could not say. But he would not lie on her behalf.
I do not know your mother.His voice remained low, nearly swallowed by the surrounding forest. A pause.
And I do not know where she is.That was all he could offer her. Truth, where certainty did not exist.
His eyes returned to the pup as she muttered that her mother did not care. Spoken so quickly, so practiced. As though she had been repeating them to herself long enough that perhaps, if she said them often enough, they might stop hurting. Hàorán knew better than to challenge them. Instead, his gaze lowered to her small paws, watching them press stubbornly into the earth, and replied,
Perhaps.
The word came quietly, not agreement or contradiction, but an acknowledgment that he did not know enough to tell her otherwise. Then his gaze lifted again, steady and patient.
But you care.She cared enough to look behind her, cared enough to ask whether he would tell her mother, cared enough to say she did not care, even when Hàorán suspected the truth was likely that she cared far too much.
So...if you are not lost, what are you going to do?A branch slowly extended to her, gentle and patient.