Fledgling Fire

In front of Sylvia's house, Sam arranged wood in the fire pit and Graeme added paper tinder and small twigs for kindling.

"What did you want to talk about?" Sam asked, straightening as he watched the kindling glow and lick the larger logs.

Graeme waited to answer until his friend turned to meet his gaze. They had spent so many nights around this same fire as kids. Sam always had the most honest, kind eyes that would dance with mirth as easily as soften in comfort. There wasn't a better male for his sister, Graeme was positive of that.

"I left you, Sam. I didn't just leave the pack. I left you. I left the future for this pack that we had imagined together. The one we dreamt about as kids," Graeme sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

Sam's arms were crossed when he received this sudden apology, and he didn't appear to react—it was as if he hadn't heard it. But then his eyebrows dipped, and he shook his head.

"You didn't leave me," he replied with a chuckle.