What were you thinking? his mother would surely ask when she looked at the stripes up his arms, like long bruises. He would love to tell her it was an encounter with a cougar, that he was the hero in a street fight.
Why had he gone into that shop, reached for that mysterious, green bottle? It had even been labeled: ‘DON’T TOUCH – TRANSMORGRYFYING POTION.’ He had popped its lid, inhaled deeply, heard the pounding of hoof beats. He had smelled the exotic musk of their hides.
He had been so rash. Would she ever love her Zebra Son again?