The exile’s footprints line miles of tundra. His mech suit beeps, and a low battery alert pops up on his HUD. When his suit dies, so will he.

The cake is sumptuous. It sends me furtive looks, its sky-blue buttercream little more than a silken slip. Luscious red peeks from between layers, like the whisper of a desperate lover. I can practically feel the tiny seeds of the jam between my teeth, and losing them in an avalanche of velvety white cake.

“Tith! Are you listening?” Father’s words cut through air rather than cake. “Twenty minutes.”

…

Dust hung in the stagnant air surrounding a snow white pup. The engine rumble faded down the forest-lined road. It finally died around the corner, muffled by a thick copse of pine. Sitting with ears pinned back, her wet eyes kept vigil.

More engines passed, each a different shade. Each was swallowed by the distance. Sun sank. Stars rose. Wet summer heat clings. A howl, hollow as loss, sang to the moon.

Still loyal, the pup sat.