Work Text:
He can’t sleep in the palace. It’s too quiet, without even the sounds of the city in the background. It’s wrong to sleep surrounded by people, and not even hear signs of life; traffic rumbling by, horns blaring, people shouting, children playing. He closes his eyes in the marshmallow-soft bed, and the silence threatens to smother him.
In the hut by the river, where he’s tasked to tend the goats, it’s easier. Goats bleat, and cry, and scream. They complain from morning to night, they never shut up. They follow him like ducklings, they tell him their stories over and over, they remind each other of their existence. At night, they snore in little goaty sighs, and the littlest nuzzle him and kick his stomach without any force, because they dream little goaty dreams.
Goats are never quiet.
In the hut by the river, he can hear the water gurgling past, tripping over rocks and bubbling merrily. The wind rushes through the trees and the grasses that surround him, and when he closes his eyes, he remembers the soft hiss of the cryofreeze chamber, its promise of forget forget forget.
In the hut by the river, he listens to the water, he listens to the goats.
Forget, forget, says the river.
Remember, remember, say the goats.
In the hut by the river, Bucky closes his eyes and sleeps.