The boy stood on one leg, watching the dog in the forest. The dog studied the boy in return, shifting slowly from side on the soft wet leaves, the boy's shoe in her mouth. The boy was breathing heavily, leaning on the husk of a tree, his shoeless foot covered in mud. He looked down and wiped his sole again, ignoring the dog and pretending to search for a thorn.

The dog knew the boy was not really hurt because he was not shouting at her. If he really had a thorn the game would be at an end and the dog would be in biiiiiiig trouble for sure. The boy was just waiting for her to get close enough to snatch the shoe out of her mouth. But the game was also not fun unless it was close and as long as the boy was pretending to be lame it would be boring. So she took a step closer and shook the shoe by the heel, then innocently dropped it in front of her. There was a clink as the shoe tipped over and a few yellow coins rolled out, shiny against the mud.

The boy remained quiet and focused on his heel. He wobbled slightly as he lifted it into a beam of the dying afternoon light. The shoe and its contents were utterly unimportant to him which was funny because she had seen just how important they had been when he had found the rusty metal box embraced in the roots of the fallen tree at the top of the hill.