Often left to their own devices, Bruno and Hernando became inseparable almost immediately. The Madrigal boy, who once considered reading a chore, now devoured the written word, reciting and retelling what stories he remembered, or read aloud. At first rigid, and stuffy with inexperience and embarrassment he soon grew into a talented storyteller, playing many roles and voices at once. Gifted as an actor, as Hernando liked to put it.

Eventually Bruno even began to weave his own narratives. A favorite being of the well-intentioned but entirely hapless hero Jorge, who fumbled through one misadventure after another, making more chaos than he had originally set out to put right in the process.

More than this, the deeper Bruno and Hernando's bond grew, the more people whispered. Avoided, outcasts, black sheep, they were both cursed, as everyone claimed. One saw too much relaying black days ahead; he seemed a living omen of bad luck and misfortune. The other saw too little, hated and despised by God who refused to impart the gift of healing upon his unseeing gaze. Quite simply, the two were a pock and blight upon the entire Encanto, a blight many feared was catching.

As the years rolled past however, the merry duet enraptured in one another's joys seemed almost entirely oblivious to the sentiment of those around them. They were just having fun, whenever and wherever they could.

One sun filled afternoon Bruno knelt on the kitchen floor of Casta scattering dried masa in a thin line across the tiles towards the cabinet where Hernando waited quietly, an empty bowl held in hand. Surveying his work for several minutes, running through the plan in his head one more time, Bruno smiled with self-satisfaction. Setting the bag of ground cornmeal on the counter Bruno scurried back to where his friend was waiting. Snatching away the wooden bowl, he slid into position beside the blind boy.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Hernando whispered. He was fast approaching another growth spurt, though he already stood several inches taller than his companion.

"No faith, no faith!" Bruno clicked his tongue, crouching low, like a coiled spring. "Julieta has been complaining about seeing a rat in the kitchen for weeks. Today is the day we catch it."

Hernando leaned over, knocking his shoulder into Bruno's. "You know my Mamá will let you borrow Micho. Have a cat in the house for one, maybe two days, no more rat."

The Madrigal boy considered the offer for a moment, but found himself grimacing at the thought of finding its tiny little body dismembered, guts spilling across the floor. Bruno shuddered, trying and failing to fend off gruesome the imagery.

Lately in his dreams, Bruno saw men in a distant time and place hunkered down in large ditches they'd dug themselves. Cold and wet, their boots submerged in freezing mud, with strange masks over their faces as a deadly smoke waded over their place of hiding. A new word with terrible meaning made itself known to the boy - artillery. It rained down upon the men, bodies flying apart as with their deaths all but assured they pressed tight against the earthen walls of their defences. The world at war.

"I don't want it dead, I just want it gone." he whispered, tone hollow as he recalled the war that was coming.

Hernando bumped into him again, when Bruno had gone quiet. Bruno forced a smile, then, remembering himself, a light chuckle, so that his friend knew he wasn't upset. Still, death felt so terribly near that the seer shivered beneath the spector of its outstretched hand, a hand that would soon encompass the globe in bloodshed.

Wordlessly Hernando conceded, and accepted the planned capture and release, so together the boys waited for their elusive prey. This would inevitably take much longer than the eight-year-olds had bargained for. Muscle aches, cramps, sheer boredom, and painfully-full bladders beset their quest on every front. In spite of all this however, the mighty warriors would not waver in their sacred mission. Or that was how the story they told themselves went.

At last, when the furry little bane of the pantry appeared, washing its face with delicate pink forefeet, whiskers twitching, and body language nervous, they were ready.

Bruno held his breath, poised to strike, his heart beating with thrill and exuberance. When the little creature seemed most oblivious to his presence, munching contently on the broken grains of corn he slammed the bowl down with a shout of excitement.

His happiness was short-lived, a shock of terror jolting through his body when he felt the edge of the vessel come down, not on the hard, cold tile, but something soft and fragile. He froze in dread, eyes wide as Hernando celebrated beside him, unawares of what had happened.

"What's wrong?" the blind boy asked when he realized that he had been singing their praises alone.

"I hurt it," Bruno whispered as the first tears fell. "I didn't mean to! You know I didn't mean to! It was an accident!" he sobbed, trembling all over as he held the bowl pinned to the floor.

"How bad?" Hernando asked his tone becoming anxious.

"I don't know!" Bruno confessed, too afraid to look, knowing he had to, eventually.

Lifting the bowl, he peered cautiously at the tiny animal. The sight made Bruno's heart plunge into the pit of his stomach even as vomit washed up the back of his throat. The rodent struggled to flee, its back mangled in a nauseating twist, hind legs and tail dragging useless behind it. Bruno let out a guilt ridden wail, sitting for several minutes in shock staring at what he'd done as the sharp whistle of falling bombs echoed in his mind.

Dying. They were all dying. He could see it. He could feel it. The thick, choking taste of fire in his lungs as the smoke washed over the battlefields of his mind. An explosion rocked him forward, a disembodied limb flew past. Screaming, there was so much screaming. Dying. Dead. They were all dead. They were all dead, only the war hadn't even started yet.

"Bruno? Bruno, what's wrong?" Hernando's pinched voice, and a soft squeeze on the wrist pulled Bruno back into the present.

He'd done this. Him. It was his fault, he thought.

"I crushed it." Bruno wept, glancing briefly with embarrassment at the growing wet mark at the front of his pants. "Oh God I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He whimpered, reaching out to scoop the little creature up as the crying rat tried to drag its broken body away. Bruno recoiled in pain as it sunk strong yellow teeth into his finger.

"It bit me!" he muttered helplessly, watching as his blood stained the scene of his crime. "What do I do? What do I do?" Bruno panicked, hugging himself as he rocked back an forth on the floor.

"Here," Hernando offered, producing a handkerchief from his pocket. He tossed it over the squeaking rodent, before reaching slowly to cradle it with adept hands that Bruno knew above all else, were gentle. "Let's take it to Julieta."

The Madrigal boy's heart thrummed with fragile hope. He'd been in such a state of shock and remorse that he hadn't even remembered his sister or her gift. Scrambling to his feet, Bruno raced to keep up with Hernando, who moved about with a certain amount of familiarity. With Casita's shifting moods however, even subtle changes resulted in the blind boy's bruised shins and bumped elbows. Catching up, Bruno took one of Hernando's hands and placed it on his shoulder, guiding him around the altered layout of the house's furnishings.

Listening as Hernando murmured softly to the rat, Bruno tried to remember how to breathe, shaking his head violently to dislodge the horror of future war, as it clashed with the present bloodshed. These visions were strong, written on the faces of the dead and dying that haunted him.

Shakily, Bruno led the way into Julieta's room, and down one of the many narrow paths that had recently appeared within the dimensional space that was hers and hers alone.

With so many visitors, some seeking out healing, others taking advantage of the forever lush harvest of her enchanted fields, conflicting with the girl's desire for some amount of privacy, the room had altered itself to be accommodating. Only her siblings seemed to understand the secret to locating the house within, without fail. He would never say, but the key was to follow that path with the pink sea shells.

It was strange, Bruno had observed before, to see how their rooms changed and manipulated themselves to reflect the children's needs and moods. This thought lingered in the back of his mind beneath the panic and alarm as they rushed through the moonlit world of Julieta's room, which had changed itself to mirror her exhaustive state. Even her private home had altered itself. It was now small, quaint, and quiet, housing a girl who longed only for a break.

Entering the currently one-roomed building, Bruno could see that the space inside was completely dominated by the oversized bed in which his sister slept. Knowing how much Julieta needed her siestas, the boy felt a pang at the idea of disturbing her, but it was an emergency.

"Julieta!" he called loudly, repeating himself when she didn't respond. The second time the girl jumped, sitting up she peered angrily through a mass of bedraggled hair.

"What?" she snapped.

"We need your help." Hernando explained evenly, somehow able to remain, relatively calm, in a situation that had Bruno shaking and lightheaded with horror.

Clamoring over a thick mountain of blankets and pillows the girl crawled towards the end of the bed where the pair stood. Expression hard she watched as the taller of the two gingerly revealed her newest patient. Lifting one edge of the kerchief, Hernando allowed the tiny, broken little body to slide off it and into his palm. His face paling and lips pressed together at the sensation, the boy's eyes teared up when the poor thing tried to shift around in his hand.

"It's a rat." Julieta said with dismissive aggravation, looking at her brother with daggers in her eyes. She couldn't believe that this was what he had bothered her for.

For a brief moment Bruno felt himself disembodied by the fear that she wasn't going to help them. His ears ringing as tears began anew the boy listed to one side, dazed. She had to help. They had no other chance, no hope left. This was his fault. He needed her to help! If the rat died- Bruno's breath was coming in short ragged gulps. It was all his fault. He was a murderer, a killer just like- With a little cry he tried to force the visions away as they flooded through him all at once.

"Please!" he lamented loudly, gripping the frame of Julieta's bed as he tried to ground himself. With desperation in his voice he hurriedly stammered out the story of what had happened before breaking into a hard series of sobs.

"I didn't mean to do it! I didn't mean to! Please you're the only one who can!" he bawled before turning towards the little animal, its ribs fluttering with quick, shallow breaths. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! ¡Lo siento!"

"Fine." Julieta yawned, her heart and expression softening as she set her feet to the floor.

The house expanded as she walked, a kitchen rolling out before her like a carpet. She reached up and a pan on a hook materialized before her awaiting fingers.

"But if I see this thing in either of my kitchens ever again it's not going to be so lucky. They're filthy disease ridden monsters -" she was saying, splashing a bit of water into masa when Hernando interrupted with a sad half smile.

"Just leave your cooking out for them to eat, no more disease." he commented, trying to be clever, but his troubled heart dampened his spirits.

Julieta rolled her eyes as she produced a pair of peso-sized corn cakes. Turning she dropped one into her brother's hand, then shoved the other into his mouth when he tried to thank her.

"For your finger. Now both of you get out of my room, I'm trying to sleep." she grumbled, escorting the pair out of her private abode.

Afraid to go much further than the hallway just beyond Julieta's gleaming door, the boys sat cross-legged on the floor of Casita, eager to use the miracle cure. Talking quietly to the rat, the small cake held before its nose, they tried to coax it to at least nibble the treat, but to no avail. Gravely injured, and trapped, the wild animal fluctuated between two states; one lethargic, laying still and limp no matter how they nudged it, the other maddened into a frenzy, and behaving with a defensive aggression neither had thought something so small was capable of.

Finally after several hours without success, Hernando had to go home, and Bruno went to bed with no appetite for dinner no matter how his mother or sisters tried to comfort him. Laying beneath his sand strewn blankets, the child wept, his heart hollowed by the knowledge that the rodent who he had done his best to make comfortable, was not going to survive the night.

The terrible truth that he had been the one to end its life, killing it for the crime of being exactly what God had created it to be, hung over Bruno, a grim shadow that bound him.

"'Thou shalt not kill.'" he heard the words in his head. Though it was Mamá who read the bible to them almost everday it was Father Castillo's voice he heard it in.

"'And for your lifeblood I will surely demand an accounting. I will demand an accounting from every animal. And from each human being, too...'" the words recited to him in a priest's voice only seemed to add to his guilt and the judgment he was sure would come. Condemning himself for his heinous actions as he cried himself to sleep, the little boy wondered fearfully if he was going to go to Hell for this.

By morning, Bruno awoke from a blessedly dreamless but no less restless sleep, squinting through tear swollen eyes. His body heavy with regret and fatigue he found himself unable to move for a long while. Eventually the boy dragged himself out of bed and approached the box which housed a tiny gray-brown body that lay so still.

Swallowing what pain he could, Bruno reached a trembling hand to pick the poor little thing up, knowing it was dead. He was going to tell Father Castillo exactly what he had done, and beg for some way to atone for it. Then he was going to bury the rat in the yard, by the flowers, and make a little cross for it with twigs and string, and say prayers for it's entry into heaven every night he resolved.

Then, to his surprise, the rat perked up. It looked at him with eyes that were wide, lively, and somehow more intelligent than they had been the day before. Bruno froze, too afraid to move. Whole and well again, the rat dusted crumbs out of its whiskers and watched, not with fear, but a knowing sense of caution at the boy who had approached it. Breath joyfully caught in his throat Bruno dared reaching out to stroke its fur.

"Hola little ratito!" he said with a sigh of relief, eyes misting up. "I'm so glad you're okay. I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean to."

The rat, who at first appeared ready to bolt, seemed to have a moment of pause. Nose working fast with wisker twitching appraisal the rat scented the child who stroked it. Then, head cocked to the side, the rat's ears swiveled with interest, as if thinking about something. Having made a clear decision the nimble little acrobat scurried up the boy's arm, across his back, and perched contently on one shoulder where it resumed its bath.

Relief flooding through the boy, fears of having ended an innocent life, and the damnation he felt that warranted subsiding, Bruno gently pet the animal.

Reverently he crossed himself before clasping his hands together and bowing his head in prayer.

"Thank you, thank you so much for helping my little rat friend," he whispered in a quaking sense of gratitude and humility. "I promise I will always take care of them, and keep them safe, and I will never do anything bad again! Thank you God, ame -"

He stopped, thinking about his dreams, and then began speaking again. "God? Please protect those men I see at night. Make all the wars stop. Make all the bad people go away to where they can't hurt anyone else again," he pleaded, stricken with emotion as he earnestly begged for peace once more. "Amen."

Bruno stood in solemn reflection for a moment on what seemed like a fruitless plea to the almighty. He'd been begging for peace, for an end to violence for years, but the visions never changed. Head ducking low, as thin whiskers tickled his ear, a giggle slipped out as the rat broke his train of thought. He was flooded with an immediate feeling of warmth and love for the tiny animal, as he ran his fingers over its surprisingly soft fur.

"Are you hungry?" Bruno asked after a while. "I am, let's go see what's for breakfast!"

The boy quickly raced down the short flight of stairs, across the sand, and out towards the kitchen. Leaving the far too adult realities of war, and of life and death behind them. Today wasn't a day for such things, today was a day for celebration! The Miracle had blessed the Madrigal family once again, Bruno felt, as Julieta's gift had preserved his new, little friend.

Galloping down the stairs, whooping and hollering with excitement, he eagerly shouted the news to his mother and sisters, who were less than enthusiastic to about the boy's new pet.