Knights against the Night Part 7

Arriving on Christmas morning, waking up to see the kid, Freddie carefully unwrapping his presents.

Bolt didn't know what to think. What kind of five year old boy carefully tore along the sellotape and folded the paper as he went along.

Bolt was sure most kids were meant to tear into their presents, throwing wrapping paper everywhere, making a mess.

It was in his classes. Kids were messy, and disorganised, and ran all over the place like the house was on fire, screaming all the while.

Did they lie to him? Seriously? Why would they lie? What would have been the point of lying?

There was an older woman watching, and Bolt tentatively marked her as Mrs Masters. He seriously wished someone had been willing to tell him what the situation in house was. It wasn't fair expecting him to go in unprepared.

Bolt himself had been carefully set beside Freddie, and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. He didn't know what to make of the child.

Freddie looked sickly and too pale, he had shadows in his eyes that spoke of sadness.

There was a heavy feeling in the room, that everyone felt.

"Here Honey." Mrs Masters pressed another present on Freddie, and the boy nodded solemnly.

No child should look that disheartened when opening presents.

When he was done, he glanced at his mother again, and Bolt got a shock.

The boy willingly picked him up and hugged him.

After being almost ignored for the pass hour, Bolt didn't know what to think.

"I'll make a start on dishing up, Darling. think you can go wash up?" She asked, and the boy nodded, drifting out the room.

No one in this household moved very fast, Freddie drifted like there was no purpose to his movements, a leaf caught in the wind, while his mother moved as if carrying a great weight, slow and steady and Bolt got the feeling she was on the edge of her endurance.

He didn't know what to think.

Still didn't know what to think when Freddie placed him on the chair beside him at the dining table, and the pair didn't speak.

Freddie never made a noise. The mother barely spoke. "Do you want more potatoes Honey?", "Do you need help cutting your meat?"

It was the saddest example of the family meal that Bolt had ever seen, and he had seen a few, for research purposes, or class projects. Didn't families talk to each other? Wasn't the meal a time where they discussed their days and told stories and made plans?

Not in this family.

Bolt shivered, his fur standing on end.

What was he doing here?

Why was he here?

Why was Freddie so important?

Freddie stopped eating and picked up Bolt again, hugging the bear tightly.

He watched his mother, waiting patiently, and his mother laid down her fork. "Are you going to name him?" She asked.

Freddie nodded once, and squeezed harder.

"Do you have a name in mind?" She asked again, and Bolt almost flinched away from the false sweetness in her voice. Freddie nodded.

She waited. Freddie stared at her. Bolt almost wanted to snigger.

“And what are you going to call him?” She asked after it became clear Freddie wasn’t going to speak.

Freddie considered for a long while before speaking, the first word Bolt would hear him say.

“Bunny.” Freddie declared with utter sincerity.

What?

His mother sighed. "Okay Honey, you can go to your room if you want."

Bunny? What kind of name was Bunny? What kind of name was Bolt Bunny? Or Bunny Bolt? It sounded like he was a scaredy cat!

Freddie nodded and retreated.

Bolt wondered. Bolt Bunny... or Bunny Bolt? Which sounded better. Could be get away with just using Bolt? Would the kid change his mind?

Please let the kid change his mind.

Why did they pick him?