THE MEANEST BOY IN Verity knows the difference between
right and wrong, though not everyone would agree with the choices
he makes. Since the night when he discovered he couldn’t run
away he’s been breaking a rule, not out of spite but because he
knows in his heart it would be wrong not to break it. That’s what
happens when someone comes to depend on you. You begin to
consider feelings other than your own. You know what it must be
like to be caged as the darkness falls and the owls call from the
trees. That is why every evening, after Arrow has eaten his dinner
and been given a bowl of fresh, cool water, the boy unlocks the
chain-link gate and carefully swings it open. The first time he did
this, the dog looked at him, puzzled. He wouldn’t move until the
boy crouched down and softly clapped his hands. Arrow tilted his
head, then slowly walked out of the kennel. He looked out at the
woods, where the scent of cypress and pine was thick and the
darkness settled quickly, covering the air plants that grew wild, and
then he stopped and sat down beside the boy.
The boy clapped a hand against his thigh and began to walk
through Julian’s yard, toward the woods. Still the dog sat where he
was, watching. The boy nodded and clapped his hands again, and
after a moment the dog took off. He passed right by the boy, and
kept going. At first the boy could hear him running through the
undergrowth, and he followed, but then there was nothing, not a
sound. The boy sat down on a tree stump, realizing that he might
have gotten himself lost. He could hear things moving in the
woods, bats in the treetops, the soft, padding steps of opossums and
cotton rats. He sat there in the dark, wondering how he could ever
explain himself to Julian if the dog didn’t come back, but when he
looked up, the dog was suddenly beside him.
