·:*¨༺ The Song ★Of Leonardo ༻¨*:·.

‎‧₊˚✩ Chapter🪐 5✩˚₊‧

I DISCOVERED THAT AFTERNOON that I was not the only foster child of Hamato Yoshi. The modest emperor turned out to be rich in cast-off sons, including the turtles he considered his own. He had once been arunaway himself, it was rumored, and had a reputation for charity towardsexiles. 

My bed was a pallet in a long barracks-style room, filled with otherboys tussling and lounging. A servant showed me where my things had been put. A few boys lifted their heads, stared. I am sure one of them spoke to me, asked my name. I am sure I gave it. They returned to their games. No one important, they wanted to act like. But some of them couldn't help but stare at my snow white fur and long ears. I walked stiff-legged to my pallet and waited for dinner. We were summoned to eat at dusk by a bell, bronze struck from deep inthe palace's turnings. The boys dropped their games and tumbled out into the hallway. The complex was built like a rabbit warren, I thought of it and felt deeply offended, full of twisting corridors and sudden inner rooms. I nearly tripped over the heels of the boy in front of me, fearful of being left behind and lost.

The room for meals was a long hall at the front of the palace, its windows opening onto Mount Othris' foothills. It was large enough to feed all of us, many times over; Yoshi was an emperor who liked to host and entertain. 

We sat on its oakwood benches, at tables that were scratched from years of clattering plates. The food was simple but plentiful—salted fish, and thick bread served with herbed cheese. There was no flesh here, of goats or bulls.
That was only for royalty, or festival days. 

Across the room I caught the flash of bright red and green in lamplight. Leo. He sat with a group of boys whose mouths were wide with laughter at something he'd said or done. That is what a prince should be. I stared down at my bread, its coarse grains that rubbed rough against my fingers. After supper we were allowed to do as we liked. Some boys were gathering in a corner for a game. 

"Do you want to play?" one asked. His hair still hung in childhood curls; he was younger than I was. 

"Play?" 

"Dice." He opened his hand to show them, carved bone flecked with black dye. I started, stepped backwards. "No," I said, too loudly. 

He blinked in surprise. "Alright..." He shrugged, and he was gone.

-

THE HUMAN BOY APPEARED TO ME IN A DREAM THAT NIGHT. I saw his mouth gaping open, the blood spilling out from his head afresh. He reached his arms out to me, about to say something. I grabbed my ears and pulled them down against my head to block out the noise. The voices of the dead have rarely left any man in a state of mental health, what would it do to a weak child? 

I must not hear him speak.

I jolted forward in my bed, the dark encasing circle of my dream now replaced with the dull reality of midnight. I sat up and looked around, hoping I had not screamed aloud. I couldn't see the moon outside the window, only the pinprick stars provided me light.

The presence of the other boys were no comfort to me. Vengeance seaked its victims no matter who is a witness.

The stars turned, I laid back down. My eyes dragged closed again, and he was waiting for me there. Of course he was. Exile might satisfy the anger of the living, but it did not appease the dead.

I woke sandy-eyed, my limbs heavy and dull. The other boys surged around me, dressing for breakfast, eager for the day. Word had spread quickly of my strangeness, and the younger boy did not approach me again, with dice or anything else. But many boys wanted to pet me, stroke my ears, or ask if I heard anything from miles I away. I'm sure at one point, I answered with a yes.