One more scratch of his pen, and he was done. Logan stood in the middle of the street, as the light faded. He squinted down the street and thought about the necessity of the task he had just completed. At his fingertips was a very rough map of the surroundings near the golden gate that kept the themepark at bay from the rest of Clubs. Even if the theme park was really the size of a very large city, given its impressive sprawl. Why had he done this? Because even though the landscape changed often, it seemed like kids kept getting lost in it during its current state.

True, he hadn't managed to finish the map yet, he'd have to add some other places here and there... But there was another reason he'd created this map. Not just to help the others find their way around, but to help a specific boy find his way to Logan's place. Just in case. Not that he'd need to, or want to, but.. just in case.

Logan slipped the map pages tenderly into a book he carried in his bag, and slipped the bag strap back over one shoulder, the bag hitting his little hip every step as he returned home. Now he'd have to painstakingly copy the map by hand so he could distribute it, since he'd never get access to a press with his father doing everything the "old-fashioned way" (what a waste, Logan thought sometimes; other times he kind of appreciated it, but he'd likely understand once he got older).

The walk home was fairly easy, because Logan had traversed Summerland's outskirts so often since hatching in Briar's home. These walks were kind of peaceful, the empty space after he'd completed a task and before he could be given another. Time spent just... being. Sometimes this was the most precious part of his childhood, whatever there was of it.

As soon as Logan made it in through his front door, he took his shoes off and put them beside the other shoes, neatly lined up. He hated wearing shoes, but Briar made him, because sometimes Clubs had a lot of broken glass depending on whatever festival had just taken place. Logan snuck into the kitchen and set tea to boil. He dragged a chair out away from the table, climbed on top of it and tossed his bag up, his feet dangling down. Logan, as quietly as possible with just the sound of the water boiling, tucked a lock of shaggy white hair behind one ear and carefully opened his bag to take the map out of the book in which he'd wedged it.

With what was left of the light slipping in through the window, Logan took his pen out, slid the bag off the table and put the map down after making sure the table was dry. After a moment's pause, Logan circled his house, which was rather small on the map he'd done up. Even if it was the rough copy, his markings were quite precise, allowing him to add a lot of detail. Into the index, he slotted: "My house."

"Just in case," Logan whispered, as the kettle chimed to let him know it was done. He didn't have to copy that onto all the others' maps, after all... just the one. The one map, the original, for that one friend. Was he a friend?