Longshot's sharp eyes scanned the clearing, waiting for something to leave the safety of the tree line and take the bite. He was patient, an arrow already nocked, the bowstring slack.
A bush rustled. Something ran toward the nuts on the leaf.
He'd almost drawn his bow when he realized the something was human.
Cautiously, he rose, purposely stepping on a twig to alert the newcomer to his presence.
The little boy's head snapped toward him, and Longshot held up his hands to show he wasn't armed. He took his pouch of jerky from around his waist and showed it to the kid, who practically ran to get some.
Judging from the rags he wore, he'd been on his own for months, and it showed. He was small. Skinny. Probably malnourished.
Longshot brought the kid back to base, where Patch gave him a once-over and declared that there were no broken bones or organ damage. No burns. Just hunger.
So they fed him, and asked questions that he obviously didn't want to answer. He only shrunk back, curled in on himself, until he was finally left alone with his plate of food.
Longshot didn't know if it was pity or curiosity that brought him to the other boy's side. He squatted down next to the lad, silent and waiting, until the plate had been licked clean.
"Longshot," the boy finally said. "That's what they called you. It's cuz you shoot arrows right?"
Longshot nodded.
"That's not the name your mom gave you, is it?"
Longshot shook his head.
"Am I gonna get a name?"
Longshot nodded.
"What if I want to keep mine?"
"You don't want to," Longshot said.
It wasn't a question. It wasn't a guess. It was a statement of pure fact. The boy looked down at his empty plate, and Longshot's arm found its way to the sobbing boy's back. His voice echoed once more.
"It only reminds you of the family you don't have."