For a long while you consider the instruction dealt down by your friend. You are touched by the concern in his voice, the solemnity in that wonderfully vivid, sun-bright gaze that holds you unwaveringly – even if you aren’t entirely sure what it means. With wide, unblinkingly earnest eyes you observe him, attention trained and ears fixed forward, so as not to let one single word of his slip by. Quietly you nod. You think you understand.
 
“Ze-ro’s ‘panion has a ‘tana” your mind repeats intently, but your fine, black brow creases – it doesn’t sound quite the same. “Ze-ro’s Ma has a ‘panion… No, ‘tana… Says you can’t be…” You are stumbling, floundering, desperate to remember because Ze-ro seems almost as wise as your parents – you cannot be mean.
 
Nervously you glance by the tiny kits’ne still nestled below. Your mother and your father have impressed upon you the value of obedience, the stark difference between right and wrong, and you have always behaved accordingly, respectfully. There is no other way. You aren’t a rebellious soul, nor mischievous or particularly adventurous; you have accompanied your father on many a trip through the months, even as far south as the shrine of your Grandfather-Earth. Your appetite for excitement has always been well nourished (even if a little shielded), and consistent schooling has rooted discipline and humbleness, deep beneath your skin.
 
You are not sure about the significance of the emerald eyes which rise to meet your uncertain expression, but you know for sure you never want to let Ze-ro down!
 
“K,” you agree firmly and touch your soft, warm lips to the soft space between the creature’s pale, triangle ears.
 
That is when your heart sinks, and along with it, your face. Your lean black leg is bony as your jaw rests across it, not particularly comfortable, but your warmth spreads soothingly all the same. Soon enough morning will leak soft light through the meadow, and forgetting the grave instruction handed down by your mother for the moment, you decide silently that you will find her. It breaks your heart to be so far away. All of the bedtime stories she has shared – those in particular about the adult world – feel overwhelmingly close, and you hope that you can be a child forever… that your parents will always be close. You don’t want to be alone any more.
 
There is some movement (the tender note of his voice), and your eyes raise mid-thought to find Ze-ro sinking closer. You lean shamelessly into the warmth he offers and tuck the little kits’ne as near to your fleshy breast as was possible – then the kind colt spreads his lone wing like a feather blanket across you. A fathomless sigh rattles your paper thin nostrils and you turn quiet eyes towards his small round knees. “Ze-ro?” you whisper as the silent night thickens around you, “Story? ‘bout home…” A deep sadness beats harshly through your veins, but your friend is brave, bold, and a story born from his vast bank of experience will surely lessen the weight of the world upon you.
 
You yawn softly – never have you been allowed to stay awake so late before. It is exciting, you suppose tiredly (not that you want to submit to sleep), and tell Ze-ro softly and sincerely, “…your best friend.”