"*** Pete the Puggle and the Great East River Adventure ***"🐾
**Chapter One: The Promise of Something Grand** The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window like golden syrup dripping across the tile floor, and I knew—*knew*—that today was going to be different. Mom’s humming had a special lilt to it, the kind that meant adventure, and Dad kept winking at Roman like they shared a secret bigger than the last piece of bacon. I sat perched on my favorite cushion, my short white fur practically vibrating with anticipation, my tail thumping out a rhythm that could have been a song. “Pete, my boy,” Dad said, kneeling down to scratch behind my ears, his fingers finding that perfect spot that made my hind leg twitch uncontrollably. “Today, we’re taking you somewhere magical. East River Park!” The words hung in the air like fireworks. I’d heard whispers of this place—acres of grass that stretched forever, trees that told ancient stories, and water that shimmered like a thousand mirrors. But I’d also heard rumors, the kind that made my puppy heart skip beats. Water that could swallow you whole. Dark corners where shadows had teeth. Separation from the ones you love. Mom knelt beside Dad, her eyes sparkling with that special magic she saw in ordinary things. “Oh, Petey, you’re going to love it. The way the wind carries the smell of adventure... the way the sun dances on the river...” She cupped my face in her hands. “But remember, stay close. The park is big, and you’re our little explorer.” Roman, my best friend and sometimes rival, bounded down the stairs two at a time, his backpack stuffed with what I could only assume were treasures. “Ready, little dude?” He scooped me up in his arms, and I nuzzled into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of grass stains and yesterday’s soccer practice. “We’re gonna find the best sticks. The biggest ones. And maybe—just maybe—there’ll be other dogs to chase.” My heart did a little flip. Other dogs. The thought thrilled and terrified me. I loved Roman more than anything, but sometimes I worried I wasn’t brave enough for his big adventures. What if I wasn’t fast enough? What if I got scared? As we piled into the car—me on Roman’s lap, Dad driving, Mom navigating with her phone that always seemed to know where magic hid—I pressed my nose against the window. The city blurred past, concrete giving way to green, and my imagination ran wilder than my little legs ever could. I pictured myself running through fields, discovering secret tunnels, becoming the hero of my own story. But deep in my belly, a tiny knot of fear tightened. What if the park was too big? What if I got lost? When we arrived, the sight of East River Park hit me like a wave of pure wonder. The grass rolled out like a green carpet to the horizon, and the river beyond it glittered with promises. I could smell everything—hot dogs from a distant vendor, the earthy perfume of damp soil, the perfume of a thousand flowers, and something else... something wild and untamed. That’s when I heard it. A sharp, staccato bark that cut through the air like a knife. I spun around, and there, perched on a rock like a tiny emperor, was Kirusha. The Jack Russell Terrier had fur the color of autumn leaves and eyes that burned with challenge. He looked at me—not *at* me, but *through* me—and let out another bark that seemed to say, *“You don’t belong here, little puggle.”* My fur bristled. Roman set me down, and I stood my ground, my heart hammering against my ribs like a drum solo. Who was this fierce creature? Why did his bark make my courage shrink like a puddle in the sun? Mom sensed my tension immediately. “Oh, look, Petey! A friend!” She started walking toward the terrier’s human, a nice lady with silver hair. But Kirusha barked again, louder, and I felt the fear rise in my throat like bile. *Not a friend,* I thought. *A challenger.* Dad placed a reassuring hand on my back. “Easy, buddy. Every adventurer meets a rival. It’s how you become a hero.” Roman knelt beside me, his voice low and steady. “We got your back, Pete. Let’s just play nice, okay?” I looked up at my brother, at the way his eyes held both excitement and protection, and I nodded inside my puppy heart. I could do this. I had to. The park was ours to explore, and no barking ball of attitude was going to scare me away. **Chapter Two: The Water That Whispers Fear** The riverbank loomed ahead, and with each step, my paws grew heavier. Mom and Dad had spread a checkered blanket under a willow tree that wept branches like green curtains, creating our home base. Roman immediately began skipping stones, each one creating ripples that spread across the water like shivers down my spine. “Come on, Pete!” Roman called, his voice bright with challenge. “Let’s see if you can fetch from the shallow part!” I crept toward the edge, my belly low to the ground. The water moved with a sound like whispered secrets, dark and deep. It wasn’t just water—it was a living thing, a liquid beast that breathed and watched and waited. I could feel its cold gaze on my fur. My reflection stared back at me, a small, white-furred creature with eyes too wide, ears too floppy, absolutely *terrified*. *What if I sink?* The thought bloomed in my mind like a poisonous flower. *What if the river pulls me under and my family can’t reach me?* I’d never been a strong swimmer. My little legs were built for snuggling, not paddling. The water smelled of ancient things—fish and mud and something metallic that made my nose twitch with alarm. Kirusha appeared beside me, his presence like a crack of thunder. He didn’t approach gently; he shoved his shoulder against mine, hard, and barked right in my face. *“Scared, are you? Little pampered house dog?”* I barked back, a sound that came out more like a squeak. “I’m not scared! I’m... cautious!” He snorted, a doggy laugh full of disdain. “Caution is just fear wearing a fancy collar.” Roman waded into the shallows, his sneakers getting soaked, and held out his hand. “Pete, look. It’s just water. I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice was my anchor. I could see the truth in his eyes—the same eyes that had watched over me since I was a puppy small enough to fit in his baseball cap. But the water... it gurgled and lapped, and my paws refused to move. It was as if the earth had grown magnets beneath my feet. Mom called from the blanket, “Take your time, sweetie! There’s no rush!” Dad added, “Every hero faces a dragon, Pete! This one’s just wetter than most!” I appreciated their encouragement, but inside, I was a storm of conflict. I wanted to be brave for Roman. I wanted to show Kirusha that I wasn’t just a soft house pet. But the fear had its teeth in me, sinking deeper with every lap of water against the shore. Then Roman did something brilliant. He pulled a rubber duck from his backpack—a bright yellow beacon of silliness. “Watch this!” He tossed it gently into the water, just inches from the shore. It floated, bobbing cheerfully, defying the river’s dark power. “See? It’s not so bad. It holds you up.” Kirusha scoffed. “Humans and their toys.” But I saw something in his eyes—a flicker of uncertainty, like maybe he’d had his own water fears once. I took a step. Then another. The mud squished between my paw pads, cold and slick. The water touched my front paw, and I gasped. It was *cold*, colder than anything I’d ever felt, but it wasn’t evil. It was just... water. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might burst from my chest and run back to the car without me. “Good boy!” Roman cheered. “See? You’re doing it!” I looked back at my family—Mom’s encouraging smile, Dad’s proud thumbs-up, Roman’s outstretched hand. And beyond them, Kirusha, watching with what might have been grudging respect. I took one more step, and the water rose to my knees. I could feel its pull, gentle but insistent, like it wanted to dance with me. In that moment, I realized something profound. Fear wasn’t a wall—it was a door. And on the other side of that door was a version of me I desperately wanted to meet. The water wasn’t my enemy. My fear was. **Chapter Three: When the Leash Snaps** The afternoon sun had reached its highest point, turning the park into a furnace of golden heat. Mom had packed a feast—sandwiches that smelled of turkey and cheese, carrot sticks that crunched satisfyingly, and a bowl of water just for me. I lay panting under the willow, exhausted from my water victory, when Kirusha approached again. This time, he didn’t bark. He just stared, his head tilted, his tail giving a single, reluctant wag. *“Not bad, puggle. For a beginner.”* I wagged back, cautious but hopeful. “Thanks. I’m Pete, by the way.” “Kirusha. And I’m not your friend. Just... acknowledging your existence.” Before I could respond, Roman stood up, brushing crumbs from his shorts. “Pete, I’m gonna hike up to the overlook with some friends. You stay with Mom and Dad, okay? I’ll be back in an hour.” My ears perked. *Overlook?* That sounded like a place where adventures multiplied. But I was supposed to stay. The internal conflict tore at me like two dogs pulling a rope. I wanted to be good. I wanted to stay safe with my parents. But the explorer in me—the one who’d just faced the water dragon—wanted to see what an overlook looked like. As Roman walked away, his figure growing smaller, something in me shifted. The park suddenly felt too quiet. The shadows under the trees stretched longer, and the sounds of distant laughter seemed to come from another world. I looked at Mom and Dad, laughing together, lost in their own conversation. And then I saw it. A butterfly. Not just any butterfly, but one with wings the color of stained glass, shimmering with blues and purples that seemed to whisper, *Follow me.* It flitted toward a grove of trees where the willows grew so thick they created a tunnel of green. I looked back at my family. They were safe. They were together. The butterfly danced, and my paws itched. *Just a quick look,* I told myself. *Roman would want me to be brave. Mom would want me to explore. Dad would say it’s part of the adventure.* I didn’t mean to run. One moment I was watching the butterfly, the next I was chasing it, my little legs pumping, the wind in my ears a song of freedom. I heard Mom call my name, but it was faint, swallowed by the distance. The butterfly led me deeper into the grove, where the trees grew so close their branches intertwined like fingers. And then it vanished. I stopped, panting, and looked around. The trees here were different—taller, older, their bark rough like dragon scales. The light that filtered through was dimmer, greener, casting everything in an underwater glow. I spun in a circle, my heart starting to race. *Where was the blanket? Where were Mom and Dad? Where was Roman?* I barked. The sound was small, swallowed by the vastness. I barked again, louder, and heard only my own echo. The park, which had seemed so welcoming, now felt like a maze built to trap lost puppies. Every tree looked the same. Every path led to more shadows. The fear of separation hit me like a physical blow. It wasn’t just being alone—it was the terror that I might never find them again. That they might leave without me. That I’d be just another lost dog, wandering until darkness fell. My breath came in short gasps, and I could feel panic clawing up my throat like a living thing. That’s when I heard the growl. Low, rumbling, from somewhere behind me. Not Kirusha’s challenging bark. Something else. Something bigger. My fur stood on end, and I realized with horror that I wasn’t just separated from my family—I was vulnerable. Alone. And the park had teeth. **Chapter Four: The Baron of the Shadows** The growl came again, closer this time, and I did what any sensible puggle would do—I ran. My paws flew over roots and rocks, my heart a drumbeat of pure terror. The trees blurred into a green wall, and the shadows grew longer, darker. The sun was sinking, and with it, my courage. *This is it,* I thought. *This is how my adventure ends. Lost, alone, and probably dinner for something with very large teeth.* Then, as suddenly as the darkness had closed in, it opened. I burst into a clearing I hadn’t seen before—a perfect circle of grass where the setting sun painted everything amber and gold. And in the center, sitting on a fallen log, was the most extraordinary figure I’d ever seen. He wore a coat the color of sunset, with buttons that gleamed like tiny moons. His hat was tall and feathered, and his mustache curled with such extravagance it seemed to defy gravity. But it was his eyes that caught me—deep, twinkling, and full of stories that hadn’t been written yet. “Ah!” he boomed, his voice like velvet thunder. “A puggle! And a lost one at that. Excellent. The best stories begin this way.” I skidded to a halt, my fear momentarily replaced by sheer astonishment. “Who... who are you?” He stood with a flourish, his coat swirling like a cape. “I am Baron Munchausen, at your service! And you, my furry friend, are in quite the pickle. Or perhaps I should say, quite the *shadow*.” He gestured dramatically at the lengthening darkness. The Baron’s presence was like a warm blanket thrown over my panic. I felt my breathing slow, just a bit. “I’m lost. I chased a butterfly and now I can’t find my family. And there’s something... growling.” The Baron’s eyes twinkled. “Growling, you say? How delightful! In my experience, growls are merely invitations to grander adventures. But first—” He reached into his coat and pulled out a biscuit that smelled of bacon and dreams. “—you look like you could use fortification.” I took it gratefully, the familiar taste grounding me. As I chewed, the Baron began to pace, his voice weaving a spell. “You see, young Pete, darkness is not your enemy. It is merely a canvas upon which courage paints its masterpiece. The growl you heard? Likely just my old friend, the Bear of Very Little Brain, who suffers from terrible indigestion. Or perhaps it was the Wind practicing its scary voice for Halloween. The point is, what you fear is rarely what you think it is.” As if summoned by his words, Kirusha burst into the clearing, his fur bristling, his teeth bared. He saw me and the Baron and skidded to a stop, his bark dying in his throat. “Another adventurer!” the Baron cried. “Kirusha, I presume? I’ve heard tales of your... enthusiasm.” Kirusha regained his composure quickly, his bark returning with full force. “I’m not here for stories! I’m here to drag this foolish puggle back before he gets eaten!” The Baron chuckled. “How wonderfully aggressive! But tell me, brave terrier, do you know the way back?” Kirusha hesitated, and in that pause, I saw the truth. He was lost too. The aggressive barking, the posturing—it was all armor for a dog just as scared as I was. His eyes, when they met mine, held a flicker of something I recognized. Fear. Loneliness. The terror of being small in a big world. “I don’t know the way,” Kirusha admitted, his voice smaller than I’d ever heard it. The Baron clapped his hands together. “Perfect! Then we shall journey together! For what is an adventure without companions? And what is fear but the shadow cast by courage?” As darkness truly fell, the Baron pulled from his pocket a lantern that glowed with a light that wasn’t quite normal—it shimmered with colors that shouldn’t exist, painting the clearing in hues of hope. The growl came again, but this time, the Baron simply turned and called out, “Not now, Frederick! We’re having a moment!” To my astonishment, the growl stopped. The Baron winked at me. “You see? Even shadows answer to a confident voice. Now, tell me, Pete the Puggle, what do you fear more—the dark, or what the dark might hide?” I thought about it, my paws trembling on the cool grass. “I think... I fear being alone in the dark. Being separated from the ones who love me.” “Ah,” the Baron said softly, his voice losing some of its theatrical boom. “Then you have already learned the most important lesson. Love is the light that never goes out. And as long as you carry it in your heart, you are never truly lost.” Kirusha sat beside me, close enough that our fur touched. He didn’t look at me, but his presence was enough. We were two small dogs in a big dark park, but we weren’t alone anymore. **Chapter Five: The Great Chase and the River’s Test** The Baron’s lantern cast dancing shadows as we moved through the park, following a path that seemed to appear only when the Baron looked at it. Kirusha and I walked side by side now, our rivalry forgotten in the face of greater challenges. The Baron told stories—outrageous, impossible stories about riding cannonballs and visiting the moon—that made the darkness seem less like a threat and more like a backdrop for magic. But then the growl returned. Louder. Closer. And this time, it was accompanied by the sound of crashing through underbrush. The Baron stopped, his theatrical smile fading. “Ah. That’s not Frederick. That sounds like... oh dear.” From the trees emerged a dog. But not like any dog I’d ever seen. He was massive, with matted fur and eyes that glowed with a wild, desperate light. His lips pulled back from teeth that seemed too large, and his snarl was the sound of broken promises and bad dreams. “Stay behind me,” Kirusha said quietly, his earlier aggression now pure protective instinct. He planted himself in front of me, small but fierce as a lion. The Baron stepped forward, his coat swirling. “Now, now, my large friend! Surely we can discuss this over a biscuit?” The dog lunged. The Baron moved with impossible speed, but not to fight—to dodge, to weave, to dance away from danger with a laugh. “Kirusha! Pete! Run toward the river! My friends will meet us there!” We didn’t question. We ran. My little legs pumped faster than I thought possible, fueled by terror and a sudden, fierce determination. Kirusha ran beside me, not ahead, not behind, but with me. We burst through the trees and found ourselves on the riverbank, but not where we’d left our family. This was a wilder part, where the current moved fast and the water roared its own fierce song. The massive dog burst from the trees behind us, and I realized with horror that we were trapped between the beast and the beast of water I’d only just begun to tame. Kirusha looked at me, his eyes fierce. “The water, Pete. It’s our only way.” I shook my head, backing up until my hind legs touched the cold edge. The river growled below, hungry. “I can’t! I’m not brave enough!” “You faced it once,” Kirusha barked, his voice urgent but not unkind. “You can face it again. I’ll be right beside you.” Behind us, the Baron’s laughter rang out, and I saw shapes emerging from the darkness—impossible shapes, creatures from his stories, converging on the wild dog. But they were too far, too slow. Kirusha nudged me hard. “Now, Pete! Jump!” And I did. I leaped into the water with Kirusha beside me, and the cold shock was like a thousand needles. The current grabbed us immediately, pulling us downstream. I fought, my legs wheeling, my head going under. Water filled my nose, my mouth, and terror screamed through every fiber of my being. But then I remembered Roman’s face. Mom’s hands. Dad’s jokes. The Baron’s words: *Love is the light that never goes out.* I kicked, harder than I’d ever kicked, and my head broke the surface. Kirusha was beside me, swimming with fierce determination, his little body a powerhouse of survival. “Swim toward the shore!” he yelped, and together, we angled our bodies, fighting the current’s pull. My muscles burned. My lungs ached. But I could see a patch of moonlight on the water ahead, and beyond it, a sandy beach. We reached it, collapsing onto the sand, panting, shivering, but alive. We’d done it. We’d faced the water dragon together, and it hadn’t defeated us. Behind us, the roar of the wild dog had stopped. The Baron stood on the bank, his lantern held high, surrounded by his impossible friends. He bowed to us. “Bravely done, young warriors! Bravely done!” Kirusha turned to me, his aggressive mask completely gone. “You’re not so bad, for a puggle.” I managed a wet, exhausted wag. “You’re not so scary, for a Jack Russell.” We sat on the sand, two soaked, terrified, triumphant dogs, and for the first time, I understood what the Baron meant. Courage wasn’t about not being afraid. It was about having something worth fighting the fear for. **Chapter Six: The Voice in the Darkness** We followed the Baron along the riverbank, our wet fur slowly drying in the night breeze. He told us we were close to where my family would be looking, but we had to be careful. The park at night was beautiful, he said, but full of shadows that could confuse a small dog. Kirusha walked so close our sides brushed with every step. “Your family,” he said, his voice gruff but threaded with something new. “They’re good humans. I watched them. They looked for you.” My heart swelled. “You watched us?” “I watch everything. It’s what I do. Someone has to keep an eye on the foolish puppies who chase butterflies.” But there was no bite in his words anymore. The Baron’s lantern suddenly dimmed, and he stopped. “Ah. We have a decision to make. The easy path, which is long and winding, or the shortcut, which goes through the Dark Grove.” Kirusha’s fur bristled. “The Dark Grove is no place for—” “The Dark Grove is precisely the place for those who wish to overcome their fear of it,” the Baron interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “Pete, you’ve faced the water. You’ve faced separation. But the dark—true, deep dark—still holds power over you, doesn’t it?” I couldn’t deny it. Even with the Baron’s magical lantern, the shadows between the trees seemed to breathe, to watch, to wait. My throat tightened. “What if... what if there’s something worse than a growl in there?” “Then you’ll have Kirusha and me,” the Baron said simply. “And more importantly, you’ll have yourself. The brave puppy who jumped into a river to escape danger. The same puppy who faced down a territorial terrier and made a friend.” Kirusha nudged me. “I’ll be right beside you. And I bite hard.” I looked at them both—the theatrical Baron with his impossible stories and magical friends, the fierce Kirusha who’d become my shield—and I realized I’d already conquered the hardest part. I’d learned that being brave didn’t mean being alone. We entered the Dark Grove, and immediately the darkness swallowed the Baron’s lantern light, turning it into a small star in a vast, black universe. The trees here were ancient, their bark rough and their branches twisted into shapes that looked like reaching hands. The air was thick with the smell of moss and mystery. My fear returned with a vengeance. Every rustle was a monster. Every shadow was a trap. I could feel my courage leaking out like air from a punctured ball. *I want my mom. I want my dad. I want Roman.* The thought was a mantra, a prayer. Then I heard it. Not a growl. A voice. Familiar, beloved, threaded with panic. “Pete! Pete, where are you?” Roman. He was close. So close. I opened my mouth to bark, but fear had stolen my voice. What if he couldn’t hear me? What if I barked and something else answered? Kirusha sensed my paralysis. He leaned in close, his voice a fierce whisper. “Bark, Pete. Bark like you did at the river. Bark like you did when you faced that wild dog. Your brother is calling. Answer him.” I took a breath. I thought of Mom’s hands, Dad’s jokes, Roman’s unwavering belief in me. And I barked. I barked with everything I had, with all the love and fear and courage churning inside me. The sound rang through the Dark Grove, clear and true. “Pete! I hear you! Keep barking!” I barked again, and Kirusha joined in, our voices blending into a chorus of lost-and-found. The Baron laughed, a sound like bells, and his lantern flared bright, pushing back the darkness. Roman crashed through the trees, his face pale in the lantern light, his eyes wide with relief and fear and love all mixed together. He dropped to his knees, and I flew into his arms, burying my face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of safety. “Pete,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh, Pete, I thought I lost you. I thought...” He couldn’t finish. He just held me, and I felt the trembling in his arms and knew he’d been as scared as I was. Kirusha sat beside us, his head on Roman’s knee, and the Baron bowed deeply. “The hero returns to his family. As all good stories must.” **Chapter Seven: The Reunion and the River’s Lesson** Roman carried me back to our blanket, Kirusha trotting proudly beside us, and the Baron following with his lantern swinging like a cheerful moon. Mom and Dad were there, and when they saw us, Mom let out a cry that was part sob, part laugh, and wholly love. “Pete!” She gathered me into her arms, her tears wet against my fur. “Oh, my brave, foolish, wonderful boy. Don’t you ever scare me like that again!” Dad hugged Roman, then me, his usual jovial face serious for once. “You had us worried, kiddo. But you found him. You did good, Roman.” Roman sat down hard on the blanket, still catching his breath. “I heard them barking. In the Dark Grove. I just... I ran.” He looked at Kirusha. “And who’s this?” Kirusha puffed out his chest. “Kirusha. I saved your brother’s life. You’re welcome.” Everyone laughed, and the Baron stepped forward, his coat catching the last rays of sunset. “And I provided the dramatic lighting and moral support. Also, I may have summoned a few friends to deal with a rather aggressive stray. All in a day’s work.” Mom and Dad exchanged glances, but they’d learned long ago that some things in life—especially with Roman and me—were better accepted than questioned. We sat on the blanket as darkness fully settled, the Baron’s lantern casting a warm glow. Mom pulled out the sandwiches, and Dad produced a thermos of hot chocolate for Roman. The Baron, incredibly, pulled a steak from his impossibly deep pockets and shared it with Kirusha and me. As we ate, the conversation turned reflective. Roman spoke first, his voice quiet but steady. “I was so scared when I realized Pete was gone. Not just scared for him, but... scared that I’d failed. That I was supposed to be watching him and I didn’t.” Dad placed a hand on his shoulder. “Fear of failure is the heaviest leash, son. But you found him. You didn’t give up. That’s what matters.” Mom looked at me, her fingers gentle on my fur. “And you, my little love. You must have been so frightened. But you kept going. You found friends. You faced the water, the dark, the separation...” I leaned into her hand, my heart full. I wanted to tell them everything—the terror of the river, the loneliness of the Dark Grove, the moment Kirusha became my friend, the way the Baron’s stories had lit up the night. But I was just a puggle, so I let my tail do the talking, thumping against the blanket like a drum of gratitude. Kirusha spoke up, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “He’s braver than he looks. Most dogs would have frozen. He jumped into a river to save us both.” The Baron nodded, his mustache curling with satisfaction. “Courage, you see, is not the absence of fear. It is the decision that something matters more than fear. For Pete, that something was love. Love for his family. Love for his new friend. Love for the adventure itself.” He looked at each of us in turn, his eyes twinkling with ancient wisdom. “You all faced your fears today. Mom feared losing her baby. Dad feared he couldn’t protect his family. Roman feared failure. Pete feared water, darkness, separation. And Kirusha feared... what, brave terrier?” Kirusha was quiet for a long moment. “I feared being alone. Being the tough dog with no one to be tough *for*.” The Baron smiled. “And now you’re not alone. You have a puggle who needs you. A family who will remember you. A story that belongs to you.” We sat in silence after that, digesting more than just our food. The river sang its gentle song, no longer a monster but a lullaby. The stars began to appear, and the Baron’s lantern seemed to blend with their light. **Chapter Eight: The Light That Never Goes Out** The drive home was quiet, contented. I sat on Roman’s lap, Kirusha curled up on the seat beside us, his owner having agreed he could come for a sleepover. The city lights passed like friendly fireflies, and I felt the exhaustion of a day well-adventured seeping into my bones. Mom turned from the passenger seat, her eyes soft in the dashboard glow. “You know, Petey, I was thinking about what the Baron said. About love being a light.” Dad added, “He’s right. We were scared today. All of us. But we never stopped loving each other, and that love is what brought us back together.” Roman scratched behind my ears, his touch gentle. “I’m proud of you, little dude. You faced everything. And you made a friend.” He looked at Kirusha, who’d begun to snore softly. “Two friends, actually. Even if one of them is a crazy old man who pulls steaks out of his pockets.” We all laughed, and the sound filled the car like music. When we got home, Mom carried me to my favorite
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