The tall, fair, dark-haired boy sat in the shade of the broadleaved tree, the weight of the stick solid in his hand. Turning it over once, twice, he gave himself a slow nod and relaxed against the trunk, grinning to himself at his cleverness.

His free hand slipped in his pocket, finding the small semi-mechanized knife his father had given him for his last birth celebration. Hardly taking the time to admire it, a now-familiar tool, in the same fashion as the branch, he flipped the wide, thick blade out and began to strip the bark from the wood, revealing the light green flesh underneath just as he'd been taught. The smell it released was fresh and almost wet, although that would change once he was done and it had rested a while.

It was a self-sharpening knife, which was perfect for whittling, a skill his father had been quick to teach him after it had been gifted. The thought had crossed his mind that perhaps it was to keep him from thinking of more devious uses for the device. Which was silly, really. He was too clever to be satisfied with just whittling and would figure out other ways to employ the tool sooner or later. But for now, there was definitely something satisfying about this new skill. It was quite cathartic, stripping away the rough outer surface of the branch and revealing the soft, sweet-smelling wood underneath.

As he worked, he hummed quietly to himself, a long meandering melody not meant for anyone's ears but his own. Soon he'd shaped the face and body of an animal, a long-necked creature with dog-like features, a curved rodent point to its nose, a clever tilt to the rough mouth and sly, slitted eyes. A long torso, paintbrush tail and short would-be-legs. The image slowly took shape as he cut and shaped the wood with the confidence of someone who can see exactly what his subject is in his head, knowing just how to translate that form into the material in his hand.

He was in the middle of switching blades to something smaller and more capable of detail when his eyes changed focus. His hands slowly stilled, body tensing as a soft noise made him aware of something or someone lurking.

"Who's there?" He turned his head, sky blue eyes slowly surveying his surroundings for the hidden interloper. Although he wasn't far from home, there were still wild things and wanderers out in the brush. The next crunch of leaf and branch was more obvious, and he pushed himself to his feet, turning towards the noise, the larger blade quickly ready in his hand.

Just in case, he thought. But he could use it if he needed to.

The sudden relaxing of his shoulders as the slim figure stepped into the clearing made that possibility obsolete. "Grey. You scared me! What're you doing here?"

"Was just lookin' for you," His brother shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking some leaves awkwardly before approaching him, closing the distance between them.

The elder rolled his eyes slightly, a reaction Grey often solicited, and tossed the knife into the ground hard enough to stick before he slumped back into his seat beneath the tree, leaning back against the huge trunk lazily. The annoyance of his younger sibling breaking his solitude was probably more evident in his voice than he'd hoped.

"Mum kick you out of your room to get some fresh air? What, wasn't anyone else around? Couldn't pull together a clipball game or anything?"

"M-mum said … said you'd promised to look after me when she left to go to the store," Grey half-heartedly flopped to his knees on the yellowish grass, hardly daring to look at his brother, sandy hair falling into his downcast eyes. "Said I should go find you, 'cause she needed to get going. I told her I knew where you were."

"Guess so," He sized his brother up, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

It was more often than not of late that Grey factored less and less into his plans. The younger boy still wanted to play on the front stoop and pretend, and he felt too grown up for that. Grey never wanted to wander or explore outside the town limits. It was all he wanted to do these days, though. See new things, go new places. The growing gap between his age and Grey's was becoming almost painfully obvious.

Soon, another year or so, and he'd be ready for the cadet school or something similar, and he was already chomping at the bit for it to happen. It felt natural to slowly grow apart from his younger brother – he hardly felt himself distancing himself, save for moments like this. Mum, who'd probably always see both of them as her little boys, kept trying to push them back together, not wanting them … him to grow up and leave. Ever. But that definitely wasn't the plan.

"Sorry, buddy," He said, lips tightening suddenly as he leaned forward, clapping the younger boy on the back. "Totally forgot. My fault. I shoulda realized what time it was and went looking for ya. But no harm done, right? Hey, you tracked me really well."

"'ve been out here before," Grey protested, looking slightly insulted by the insinuation. "Dad and Mum had that picnic, out by the bay, and we climbed through all that brush to get in here. Just … knew you came here 's all." He shrugged off the achievement as if he didn't want it. The list of things that separated them grew all the time – the elder would've and did wear that conquest like a crown.

"Well, anyway. Y' wanna go back home? We can make some snacks, watch a vid or something?"

"I dunno … Whatcha makin'?" Grey caught up the rough piece of art in a swift change of subject, assessing it in his palms quickly, taking several steps away. His lips curled in a knowing grin as his older brother reached out to take it back. "You're carving a jack?"

"Give it back! C'mon, Grey," The elder brother grumped, trying to reach past the spry little boy to grasp the wooden trinket. They struggled with it for a moment before it passed back to its creator, slipping easily from smaller hands as that bemused smile lingered.

"Carving a jack … But why a jack? 'S an odd thing to make. Not like anyone'd really want a statue or whatever of a jack."

"I would," The elder brother frowned at the lack of understanding, pulling his knife from the ground and giving the wood a few flicks before closing it up and slipping the instrument in his pocket. "I dunno, the wood wasn't that thick and it just ... fit. 'Sides, I like jacks. I think they're smart as anything."

Grey snorted, curling his knees to his chest. He wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something distasteful, chin resting on his knees as he pondered this concept. "But they're scavengers. They like t'dig in the garbage pots. And dad's always saying they're the reason we have to keep the town garden power wall up more often than we should."

"They're survivors," He corrected, looking down his nose at Grey as if the other boy was dense. "I mean, they can get out of pretty much any trap. I saw some playing in a field one time, they were having so much fun! Quick and … they seemed to almost laugh at each other. I think they're really neat. And I read about a man in the city who had a couple as pets. And … well, I like them." He turned the unfinished carving over in its hands, admiring his own handiwork for the moment.

"Oh, you liiiiike them," Grey said, voice somewhere between amusement and awe. That his older brother rolled his eyes again and shifted uncomfortably just made him feel more certain in that. "I bet you wish you could be one. Ha!"

"That's stupid."

Bright blue eyes stabbed daggers at his younger sibling, a frown curling his lips as he stood, insulted. Suddenly he began to stride across the clearing in the direction of home. The little trinket fell into the grass, not quite thrown, as if to prove his indifference. It wasn't that it was a bad thought, really, being an animal, especially a jack. Knowing that his brother thought so badly of them, as did many other townsfolk, though, he took the suggestion as an insult.

"Do too! Jack! Jaaaack," Grey laughed disparagingly, pushing to his feet to follow his brother. "I'll call you that from now on, you like them so much. Your name is Jack and you live in a hole, you like to eat trash and catch springflies and smell funny!"

"You calling our house a hole? An' I'll tell dad you think his cooking tastes like trash."

"Not fair, Jack! You know I don't!" Grey pouted, his insults deftly turned back at him, and not quick enough yet to fire back. He was still in the arena of calling names at opponents who could only cry and call names in return, with the occasional demeaning rhyme. Brother 'Jack' was far beyond that already. "C'mon, where're ya goin'?"

"Home," 'Jack' said gruffly, pushing through the dense undergrowth to find the rough path he'd been slowly wearing into the brush. "You can come, or you can just stay. You can go poke a pissed firelight with a stick. I don't care."

"But Jaaaa-aack! Mom said!" Petulant and insistent, Grey was already crunching and hopping along behind with minimal difficulty, arms up to ward off the branches that slapped back at him from 'Jack's passing almost purposefully.

The elder brother frowned more deeply at the nickname, if that was even possible. The ease the kid took in calling him that was all too foreboding, and he refused to rise to it and answer. Not only to rob the other boy of the satisfaction, but if he encouraged him, Grey'd just call him 'Jack' more and more. Brother 'Jack' had seen what misery could come when an unfortunate nickname stuck. He only hoped his sibling would drop it before anyone else heard.