Bond
He was too broad for tag, always rustling the gardenia bushes as he looked for a hiding place. The twigs snapped under his sneakers even when he tip-toed. When at last he received no more offers to play from the other kids, he sat down next to a hickory in the playground and angrily punched it. The tree cried, shedding green tears. Guiltily, Kusanagi laid wide, careful hands on the wound he had caused and murmured his apologies. Over the following days they became a common sight: a pair of scraggly shadows exchanging covert secrets, elongating with the sinking sun.