The leaves turn every warm shade from light yellow to dark reddish brown as autumn comes on strong, and the goats eat them as if they were potato chips when they drift into their pen. Even though it was silly because you live in the middle of the forest, last year you'd just purchased firewood because you didn't have the time to chop some yourself. But this year you're determined to do so, and the second Jason saw you in the middle of it he went back to his cabin and returned with his own (slightly blood-stained) hatchet. Between the two of you there's now an absolutely enormous stack of firewood and kindling piled up in the barn - you probably won't need to use the electric furnace at all for the entire winter… and possibly even the winter after that. Jason still spends time away every day, you imagine at his little shack to pay respects to his Mother and probably making the rounds for any last stragglers that come visit the lake. But he still spends hours with the goats and chickens each day, spends every lunch break with you and shares in the chores, and since that first movie night after he'd showered you've made movie night a regular event. He seems completely fascinated by every single thing you watch no matter the subject or quality, and you imagine it's likely because he probably hasn't seen a movie or show made after 1957.

Several days after you'd washed his existing clothes you went to the little department store in town, hoping that they'd have a shirt in his size. Fortunately they did have a small menswear section labeled 'big and tall', but even their biggest and tallest looked like it would just barely fit him properly. You chose a sweater as close to the color and style of his ruined one as possible and presented it to him with your stomach in a knot, hoping he would like it - or at the very least not be offended or otherwise annoyed. He stood there slightly stunned, not quite able to comprehend right away that you were giving him yet another gift. But once it sunk in his gratitude was so great that he didn't know how to express it. Not for the first time, he wished he knew what to give you in return. But the best he could think of was to take your hand and give it a little squeeze like you'd done to his back when he'd shown you his home. He very rarely wears his gloves in the house anymore, and that simple touch made both of your hearts skip a beat, though you both did your best not to show it. The sweater ended up fitting him perfectly and now he wears it all the time - and even if you hadn't thrown out his old one he would wear it all the time anyway, just to show you how much he likes it.

The days grow shorter and the weather gets cooler, and the clock is ticking for the two kids, now big and strong and meaty. This is far and away your least favorite part of food animal husbandry, but you're committed to avoiding store-bought animal products as much as you can so after putting it off for as long as possible you tell Jason that today is the day. You set up a bucket full of grain on the other side of the property, as far from the barn and the other goats as you can get, then put a collar on one of the kids and lead him out to it. Jason is waiting there and holding your rifle, which he hands to you when you release the kid's collar. The kid immediately attacks the grain as if he's been starving for weeks, and it's at this stage of the process that you always tear up, every single time. "It breaks my heart to do it," you confess, and Jason's eyes follow the tear that trails down your cheek. He has never seen another person cry out of sympathy for another - only him and his Mommy, who had cried for each other. He's only ever seen others cry for themselves as they begged him to spare them, and their selfishness only hardened his resolve to fulfill his duty and silence their sniveling forever in a gurgle of blood or the snapping of bone.

"But that's the way life goes. At least it's quick and they live better lives than the ones who make the milk and meat you buy in the store. All creatures eventually die, some simply must do it sooner. I know you understand that." you say sadly, then realize that you're not sure if Jason can die anymore. You worry about your faux pas, hoping that you haven't offended him somehow, but he just nods. Yes, he understands all too well that some creatures die sooner than others, either justly or not. He watches as you aim the rifle at the top-back of the kid's head, right between the ears, and release the safety. Unaware and unafraid, the kid sticks his face in the bucket of grain once more and as soon as he lifts his head again, you pull the trigger.

The shot echoes through the trees and a nearby bird takes flight as the kid instantly drops to the ground. Jason doesn't flinch. The last bits of electricity run their course in a few twitches and jerks, and just like that the spark of life is gone. You wipe the tears from your eyes as you lean down to place your hand against his fur and murmur an apology, then set the rifle aside and pull your knife from its holster to begin the process of transforming the carcass into neatly wrapped pieces of meat for your freezer. The second kid follows once the first one is done, and Jason is a little surprised that neither Nan nor Billy seem to care much that their kids are missing. They bleat for a little bit right after the kids are led away, but they calm down after a few hours and just carry on like normal. You shrug. You know goats well, but there are some aspects of their psychology that not even you can explain. Maybe it's an evolutionary adaptation of prey animals - in the wild the likelihood is high that many of them will fall to a predator's appetite, so perhaps it's best not to get too attached after a certain point.

...

Yesterday's events have got Jason thinking about death. Specifically about the deaths that come sooner than others. Even though the majority of the people he kills are only in their teens, in Jason's opinion their deaths can never come too soon - bad people deserve to be punished. And while the goats didn't deserve to be punished and your killing them wasn't done with punishment in mind, the fact remains that their deaths came sooner than others: sooner than their parents, sooner than yours, and definitely sooner than his will be, if he ever dies… but perhaps not sooner than his death that had already happened. He doesn't know exactly how goat ages stack up against human ages. All he knows is that they were young, and that he was young.

He's sitting on your front porch waiting for you to finish work. He's done all the chores including putting hay in Nan and Billy's separate pens, because it's that time of year again and you told him that you'd be putting them back together next week - whenever that is - so they can make more babies. He looks at the trees, their leaves wilting and dying and falling to the ground, and he thinks about how in the spring the leaves come back again, fresh and new, just like the goats will. It's a whole cycle of life and death that he's never really thought about for a long, long time. For him there has only been death and rage, and he feels strangely left out somehow. His life was so short and his death is dragging on so long, and he wonders if it's ever going to end… if he's ever going to wither and fall like those leaves and never wake up again. But there is work to be done, for the bad people will keep coming and if he doesn't punish them, then who will? He hasn't gone back to the exact spot where he'd drowned since he first crawled back out of it, dripping and coughing as water drained from his mouth and nose, his now-dead heart throbbing with hate and revenge. He suddenly finds he wants to take you there, though he's not sure exactly why. After seeing you cry for those kids it just feels right to share it with you somehow. And friends are supposed to share things with one another, aren't they? Whether it's presents or feelings, and the only present he has to give you is a little bit more of himself.

You stand up and stretch after turning off your computer, your spine cracking a bit as the vertebrae pop back into alignment. You're not getting any younger, that's for sure. You stick your head out the front door to invite Jason in for dinner and a movie, but after you finish your meal he shakes his head when you move towards the living room. "What's wrong?" you ask as you return to him, even though he can't answer. He seems a bit somber as he reaches out for your hand and you accept, then walk back out of the house together. He lets go once you're outside, but you keep walking close beside him as he takes you down a path that you know about but haven't yet dared travel: the one that leads directly to the notorious camp itself. The sun is just beginning to set as you pass through the main entrance, and the old-fashioned sign definitely looks its age. The whole camp in fact has a somewhat run-down appearance and a melancholy sort of feel, and it seems like the kind of place that teens dare one another to stay at overnight, like a cemetery or old house that's rumored to be haunted. Only this one really is. Jason takes you right up to the lake itself and then out onto one of the docks. The wood's a bit slippery and there's an overturned canoe floating sadly in the water, just barely submerged. You both stop at the end and you look up to see Jason just gazing out across the water. Even though you can't see his eyes, his energy is subdued and a little bit sad, and you immediately know why he's brought you here.

"Is this where it happened?" you whisper, and he nods. You don't know what else to say, but it feels like a moment where no words are required. You take his hand in yours once more, and together you watch the sun turn the lake as orange and red as the leaves as it slips below the horizon.