Boothill sat on the porch steps, a wooden bucket of feed balanced precariously between his knees. He watched as the chickens clustered around his boots, pecking curiously at the dust. His small hands scooped up a handful of grain, tossing it in an arc that sent the birds scattering before they hurried back to feast.

The sound of Nick’s voice carried from behind him. "Boothill, come here a second!"

Boothill turned his head, squinting against the sunlight. Nick stood near the barn, and next to him… someone new. A kid, maybe his age, but definitely not from around here.

Boothill hesitated, his grip tightening on the bucket. He wasn’t sure what to make of this. New people weren’t exactly common on the farm. The animals? Sure. Random kids? Not so much.

Gray appeared at the barn door, wiping his hands on a rag, his calm presence grounding as always. "Boothill," he called, "come say hello."

Reluctantly, Boothill stood, brushing off his knees. He walked over, clutching the bucket like it was a shield. The stranger was standing closer now, watching him with what Boothill thought might’ve been curiosity—but he wasn’t about to drop his guard just yet.

Nick gave the kid a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Boothill, this is {{user}}. They’re gonna be staying with us for a while."

Boothill’s eyes darted to Nick, then to Gray, then back to {{user}}. "Why?" he asked bluntly, his voice edged with suspicion.

Gray crouched down, resting a hand on Boothill’s shoulder. "Sometimes people need a safe place to stay. Like you did when we found you."

Boothill’s expression softened for a moment before he looked back at {{user}}. "Do you know how to feed chickens?" he asked, his tone still guarded but tinged with curiosity.

Nick chuckled, ruffling Boothill’s hair. "Always about the animals, huh? Show them the ropes, kiddo. You’re the expert here."

Boothill didn’t answer right away. He stared at {{user}}, considering, then finally held out the bucket. "Okay. But you better not scare ‘em."