"Where to go now..?" Francis mumbled to himself. He had returned to the spot he had been hit in the head the day before and now tried to decide which way he would go in hopes of finding the mysterious boy. He looked around and settled on the general direction he had run off into before. As he made his way through the thickets and bushes, the bag slung on his back and is long hair snagging every so often, he found himself coming up on a good sized stream. As he got closer his heart race sped up a bit. Sitting on the bank on the far side was the boy. He had a bird, the same one from yesterday or not he wasn't sure, and was plucking the feathers out of it. Periodically Francis would see him mumble something, not audible over the water, or would see him nod his head as if engaged in a conversation with someone that clearly wasn't there. 'Odd.' He thought. 'But then again, its not like he has anyone else to talk to then himself out here.' Then, once all the feathers had been plucked and sorted (Down feathers separate from the rest) and the body cleaned the boy stood and stretched. He looked around lazily and didn't seem to notice the french boy behind the trees. He held the bird in one hand and most of the feathers in the other. He scowled down at the down feathers. Now that he was standing Francis could hear him more clearly. "I'll come back for these later." And with that departed into the woods.
Francis watch the other disappear into the leaves and waited a few moments before he crept out himself. He quickly took a running leap and landed on the other side of the stream. He looked down at the feathers that had been left. 'Maybe if I try to help him he wont point those arrows at me.' He thought as he set his bag down only to withdraw a smaller draw bag and and began filling it with the feathers. 'Worth a shot.'
Francis stirred a bit, he had laid down in the grass while he waited for the bushy-browed boy to return. 'I must have dozed off.' He concluded as he slowly opened his eyes. In that moment sky-blue met forest-green with a start as the wild boy Francis had been waiting for scooted back with surprise. The french boy slowly sat up and looked to the other boy who held his knife out in defense. "Bonjour."
The boy stared at him with a cross look. Had he never heard his language before?
"What are you doing here?" He demanded, gripping his blade.
"Well I could ask you the same question." Francis said as he rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes.
"I told you to stay out of here, you stupid frog!" 'Frog?' he thought. 'Where did that come from?'
"Are you looking for these, cher?" He held up the small bag that he had been using as a pillow. "I think you left them." He opened the bag to show the boy its contents. His eyes widened and he extended his had only to retract it back and shot him a menacing scowl. "Non non, its alright, they're yours." He could sense his apprehension, so he lightly tossed the bag to him which he caught. "I thought a bag would make them easier to carry." The boy eyed him with a suspicious look, but sheathed his knife nonetheless.
"I told you to stay out of here french man-"
"Francis." he interjected.
"...Francis." He paused for a moment and looked between him and the bag. "But this could be useful."
Francis considered this the closes thing he would get to a 'Thank you' for now. The boy gave him a glare but then a stiff nod before turning to go.
"Wait!" Francis called after him. "Don't I get to know your name?" He turned to face the french boy, a contorted look gracing his face, as if it pained him to give that kind of information away. He looked Francis over with his pleading blue eyes, then back to the bag. "Arthur." He said quickly before escaping into the foliage yet again.
