Narrator's POV

"O..." Hwayoung let the empty pail fall from her grip and to the ground. It didn't make as much as a thud, since the ground was cushioned with fallen dried leaves, which the girl knew, she would be asked to rake away later. Just a few minutes ago, she was looking back and complaining on how she hated routine and how everyday becomes repetitive and monotonous and the same.

But a boy in their backyard? Now that was different.

"Omma!" She called out, louder this time. The woman came around moments later, still busy drying her hands with the apron tied around her waist all day. "What is it?" she replied with a heavy local accent, which, surprisingly, Hwayoung didn't took after. The girl didn't need to point and gesture to the body – dead or alive – on their backyard.

Soon after, her mother did the same thing, calling out for her husband in a trembled, scared manner. When the women had stepped back and let the head of the house do his job, it was decided. The boy was alive, whoever he was, and was suspected to be one of the millions of children and young adults displaced from their homes because of the ongoing war.

Her mother pitied him and was seen shedding a tear while tending to various scratches and wounds all over the boy's body. Hwayoung, on the other hand, never felt so wronged. If at first, her seeing the boy was a God-send, now she changed her mind. Her mother seemed to feel bossier and had ten times more errands for her – not that she could complain about it.

But when dinner time came, as the three of them sat huddled around the table after saying grace, and her mother heard shuffling upstairs, Hwayoung was ordered once again to check up on him. "Why, mother?" For once, she had dared to ask. "Because you're our daughter, Hwayoung," her mother explained without a hint of any emotion in her voice. "And your job is to follow orders."

Hoisting her dress up above her ankles, Hwayoung mentally cursed herself and the current situation they were in. She didn't quite understand it, somehow. How could a Korean aim his gun at a fellow Korean? But then she shrugged, realizing she was still young to know the reason behind everything. She trudged up the stairs and came face to face with the bedroom door.

Her fists abusively rapping on the door, "Hey, mister!" Hwayoung exclaimed. "If you think you won the jackpot prize for immediately earning my mom's pity and trust, well you're wrong! Unlike my parents, I really am not joyful about you being here and in MY room, for that matt—” The door opened from the inside and out came the boy, looking just as surprised as she was.

"Aish, this boy...Who do you think you are, anyway?! This is our house, and since you woke up now, you can leave!" She crossed her arms and stepped aside, waiting for the boy to leave. But he just stood there, watching her every movement. "What are you waiting for? Do you want me to walk you down the stairs?" Hwayoung asked, motioning down the staircase.

Somehow getting the idea, the boy crouched down low, getting on all fours. He circled the small spot at the top of the stairs like a dog, before reaching his arm out and setting it down a step. When his hand touched the wood, he retracted it quickly, similar to burning a finger and immediately pulling it back. "What are you doing?" Hwayoung looked frightened.

"Hwayoung-ah!" Her mother called out from below. "What's taking you so long up there?" The woman's footsteps sounded closer and louder. "Has he awoken you—“ She cut herself off after discovering the boy. Rushing up the stairs, Mijeong, Hwayoung's mother, held the boy on either of his shoulders. "Ya, are you okay? Are you injured somewhere?" She laid a hand on the lad's cheek.

But the latter just stared at her dumbfoundedly. "Where do you live? Aren't your parents looking for you?" she pressed more, but the boy could only reply with a blank, wide-eyed expression. "Maybe he's still traumatized," Mijeong thought out loud, turning to Hwayoung for her opinion, but she just nodded to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Mijeong dragged the boy by his forearm and led him to the kitchen. With each step down the stairs, the lad would let out a whimper. "Omma, there is seriously something wrong with him," Hwayoung said, not the least bit embarrassed that the boy was just beside them. "What if he's a bad person, mom? If soldiers come marching in—" she continued, but her mother silenced her with a stare.

They have long heard and witnessed the terrifying situations which never fail to terrorize and instill fear among the people. Stories like soldiers storming in houses with their shoes — on  with their shoes on! — and the mass killing at the forest clearing spread like wildfire immediately after the said incident, in hushed whispers and scared murmurs of course. 

In the end, Hwayoung sulked in silence, sitting on her usual spot by the dining table and watching as the boy munched on the food greedily. "Poor boy," Hwayoung's father muttered. "He must have ran away from home and ended up here. Tell me." He leaned forward in his seat. "Where do you live? Where did you come from?" he asked.

The lad dropped the piece of bread he was nibbling on and stared back at the man. He tried opening his mouth but nothing came out. "He must be mute, appa," Hwayoung concluded. "He must be. Or else he's a very disrespectful child," Mijeong agreed. "He'll be of no use to us. What if he's from the..." Hwayoung started and suddenly became wary of her own words. "What if he's from the other side?"

"Hwayoung, they shoot anyone who peeks across the border." Her father explained. "Do you really believe he would survive through that?"

"But abeoji, I don't want him here. I mean, just look at him!" she exclaimed, gesturing towards the lad who seemed to be having the feast of his life and not caring if he understood or not. "He's wounded, he doesn't talk, and I indirectly do errands for him! This thing doesn't even have a name, does he?" she panted, breathless from her fit.

"Hwayoung!" Her mother shouted, and she knew she was in danger of getting punished. But she stood bravely instead, waiting for whatever consequence she might face. Instead of the worst coming, it was Hwayoung's uncle who came instead. As soon as the visitor stepped foot inside the house, the boy – in the middle of his munching – tensed. In the blink of an eye, he was there, on all fours, sniffing and circling the newcomer.

"Well," Hwayoung's uncle started, feeling uncomfortable. "I didn't know you adopted a family pet."