"But where's yours?"
"That is a good question."
She's quiet for a moment, swinging her rabbit by its ears. "It's scary. Not knowing things."
"Yes," I say quietly. "It is."
"I got lost once. In the market. I couldn't find Mama and I was really scared. But then she found me and it was okay." She looks up at me, her brown eyes earnest. "Maybe someone's looking for you too. To find you and make it okay. Don’t worry. They’ll find you."
The thought should be comforting. Instead, it fills me with a strange dread. What if someone is looking for me? What if they find me?
What if I don't want to be found?
"Maybe," I tell her.
"What happened to your face?"
I touch my swollen eye instinctively, wincing. "I got hurt."
"How?"
"I don't remember."
"Did you fall?"
"Maybe."
"From where?"
"A tree, maybe?"
"Mama says you have to stay in the barn," the girl says. "You’re not allowed in the house."
"I know."
"Why?"
"I’m a stranger. She needs to keep you safe."
"Are you dangerous?"
The question is so direct, so innocent, that I don't know how to answer. Am I dangerous? I don't feel dangerous. But I don't feel safe either.
"I don't think so," I admit. "Maybe."
She thinks about this, then shakes her head. "I don't think you're dangerous. Dangerous people are mean. You're not mean."
"How do you know?"
"Because you answered all my questions. Mean people tell you to go away." She tosses her rabbit into the air and catches it. "Mama will be mad if she finds me here."
"Very mad."
She doesn't seem particularly concerned. "I hope you remember your name."
"Me too."
"Maybe your name is Lupo. I wanted to name one of my chickens Lupo but Mama said no."
