They called him a mute but he wasn’t. He spoke to his lion, his words soft and strangely formal. He was dozing on his bunk to the rhythmic thrum of the train on its determined path when she woke him. She wore sparkles even to sleep in, as though they were a second-skin or her identity. Her face was panicked, it didn’t suit her; she usually smiled. Lionel was gone. Vanished. His crate vacant but for straw. He took off; demanding an urgent stop with his presence. He leapt from the door, sprinting and searching for sight of his companion.
About Amy Cameron
Amy is a teacher living in the Highlands of Scotland with her husband, son and tortoise. She writes poetry and prose which are observational and mildly funny, in her opinion. She tweets @AmyOCameron
