Slipping Through Fingertips

“Beau, look. Say hi to Noel.”

I point to Noel, who’s awkwardly shifting from foot to foot with a makeshift mask and gloves on his face and hands. I see the traces of his smile, with the way his amber eyes are crinkled into sweet crescents. Beau gives him a drowsy glance, before turning back to me again.

“He’s a bit shy,” I laugh, as Noel’s face falls. “He’ll get used to you in no time.”

But Beau’s silver eyes are unfocused again, even though he’d been asleep all day and had only been awake for only about an half hour. A corner of my heart aches, knowing that the violet continues to spread. He had made it this far, when half of the wolves who’d caught the Plague in the Packhouse had died already. And he was just a pup.

Tears sting my eyes.

“Sleepy, aren’t you?” I whisper, lying him back in his cot. “I know, I know. You must be exhausted after drinking all that milk, hm? I know you enjoyed it. Yes, yes, you did.”

Noel’s brows furrow. He sees the same things that I do. The pu