You Ain't Nothing
A child no older than nine rushed trhough the forest, fear in his grey eyes. ‘I’m not like them,’ he thought. ‘I’m not human. I’m not anything. I never will be.’ He leapt into a tree, looking down and panting hard.He heard nothing, no angry yelling, no horse hooves hitting the ground in the distance, nothing. He wondered if he’d lost them. He jumped into the shadows and walked very carefully, silent and agile as a cat. His hands went up to his neck.Oh no—it was too late. The collar was already bonded to his neck. If they gained control of the enchantment, it could inhibit everything. His vision, hearing, running, even breathing. He was weak, and they didn’t need him. They wouldn’t miss him. He was just as an animal, nice to have, but disposable. He’d even convinced himself of that. Fear took control of him, and he passed out, it eating away at his muscles, brain cells, and heart. The words echoed from what he’d heard earlier, when he’d started running.
“You ain’t human, you ain’t nothing at all.”