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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1311731-Prelude-Foxs-Run
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by SST Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Chapter · Young Adult · #1311731
The beginning to my YA novel about a young girl's struggle to find self worth and trust.
The two men sat at a table in the shadows. One had a small child, no more than three years old on his lap. “I need to get her out of the city. This life got my oldest son and his wife killed, I can’t let it kill Lizbeth too. I just don‘t know what I‘d do if I lost her as well.” He sighed and ran a hand through his graying red hair. He looked ragged and beaten down, tired.

The child wasn’t listening as her grandfather spoke with his friend and partner. She just sat on his lap hugging a ragged doll close to her chest. She had tear stained cheeks and a glazed, lost expression in her eyes. “Henry doesn’t know our secrets like Jonathan did, and his wife is a cold one, but we should be safe there. I’m not terribly fond of who Henry has become, but he has several children and it should be a safer place for Lizbeth to grow up.”

His companion nodded. “I wish you’d change your mind, but I do understand. I will expect to know how both of you are doing. Come back and visit when you can. I’ll miss you old friend, and the little miss too.” He held out his arms and the little girl scrambled from her grandfather's lap to his friend's and snuggled into him. “You will always be welcome here youngling. You might not remember us in a few years, but we’ll always remember you.” He ruffled her hair and tweaked her nose. She looked up and gave a watery smile as she reached up to tug on his black hair that was just a bit too long.

When her grandfather moved to gather her back into his arms her doll dropped to the floor. Immediately tears began to form again and her bottom lip trembled. Before either man could retrieve the doll, the two boys that had been listening from the back of the room ran forward. The smaller of the two reached the doll first and handed it back to the girl while glaring at his cousin that would not have returned the doll in quite the same condition as his cousin. “Don’t cry little bit, here’s your doll.” He looked at her very seriously. “You’ll be back, and we'll take care of you because you will always be one of us.” She met his gaze and nodded solemnly, sniffing back the tears.

The two men exchanged a look over the boy’s head, knowing it was unlikely the children would actually get to see each other again. “Here we go Lizbeth, time to head out.” The two men shook hands then gave in and hugged. The two boys stood behind the men and watched their role models part ways.

“Don’t stay away too long old man, we’ll expect regular reports of this one’s growin’ up. And how you are doin’ of course.” Lizbeth’s grandfather grinned and ruffled the hair of his partner. He shot back easily, “You’re not so young anymore yourself. Won’t be long before some gray starts appearing in that black mane of yours.” The two men chuckled, clasped hands once more and parted ways. “Be safe old fox, and take care of that pretty little granddaughter of yours.” The remaining man whispered as his friend and mentor left.

“Why do they have to go?” whispered the boy that had picked up the doll. The remaining man knelt down to be face to face with his little brother, who looked like a miniature version of him. “They have to go stay with the rest of their blood, it’s the way it has to be. They were no longer safe in the city, and none of us would want Lizbeth hurt, right? Her safety and the lives of everyone we care about is more important than wanting to keep them close.” The boy sighed and agreed with his brother, but was sad to see Lizbeth and her grandfather go.

“Sissy, why'd you wanna play with a stupid girl anyway? She’s too little to be any fun even if she were a boy.” The larger boy then smacked his cousin on the back of the head and ran from the room. The remaining man and child hugged and slowly walked up the stairs together, sharing their sadness. They were both already missing their departed friends.
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