She could not have been more than ten. She was curled up at the base of an old worn-down fountain, clad in a filthy over-sized t-shirt. It was so torn along the bottom that he would have mistaken it for a rag. Men’s shorts swallowed her up from the waist down. Her feet were bare, dirty, and covered in scratches and cuts. The wounds seemed to travel up the child’s legs.
She’s been running.
The young human continued to watch the spirit, peering at him through a mess of umber locks. She shook fervently as a gust of fall passed through the heart of the park, forcing the child to hug herself more tightly. In her shifting, he noticed a large black spot through the rips in her top, an uneven splattering against her side.
His expression hardened at the sight. Damn humans… Who the hell would hurt a little kid?
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