"Did you really tell your kindergarten teacher to go fuck himself?" Duncan asked the small blond boy he was still having trouble believing was centuries older than he was, having apparently first died in 1179 if the story he'd heard was true. He knew he shouldn't have been, but he was faintly stunned by what the principal had told him over the phone when asking him to come and pick up the kid. Kenny hadn't taken to kindergarten all that well, and it certainly hadn't taken to him either.
Kenny who looked to be about seven and therefore too old for kindergarten which had been what had led up to the altercation with one of his classmates which the teacher just had to interfere with just shrugged his shoulders and followed the man out of the school building without saying a word on the subject. He'd always been a bit too reckless for his own good, and he'd learned long ago that trying to avoid the consequences of his actions was pointless because they'd almost always come back and bite him in the ass one way or another. Fortunately, he was adorable, and he'd been able to use that to mooch off of a certain subset of Immortals over the centuries, a type who were willing to shield him from the worst of the fallout from his misbehavior despite the fact that they intellectually knew he wasn't really anywhere near as young or as innocent as he looked.
He'd learned mooching from the best, as well as how to take without giving anything he didn't want to in return. His small size and innocent face were the two best tools in his arsenal, as well as his two greatest weaknesses. If his teacher who'd stayed with him all too briefly before moving on hadn't taught him how to run...
As Kenny followed his current guardian and protector to the car, he reflected that if he'd been just a little bit older before he'd died he could've very easily become a very effective headhunter considering the fact that he had always been able to find sanctuary with Immortals who wanted a child to care for, a child they wouldn't have to bury. Unfortunately, thanks to an unsturdy tree branch and his lack of sense, he completely lacked the necessary strength to behead anyone and the best he could do to get out of a challenge is stab his opponent and run for the nearest bit of Holy Ground. Rather than being the easy prey he could've been, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was the latest of a long line of Immortals he could spend maybe five years at the most mooching off of before he was forced to move on, dodge the headhunters, and find another benefactor.
Just as the Immortal who had found him staring up at the twilight sky wondering what the hell had happened had told him to, he would live, grow stronger, and save the fight for another day.