If he allowed his thoughts to stray, for his mind to wander, for his focus to falter for only a moment and blur around the edges, he could remember as though he were experiencing it once more: the uncomfortable burn in his belly from crippling hunger, the terrible clinging loneliness, the heartache from missing his parents, the tingling of a question on the tip of his tongue. What now?

He was on his own for far too long, and yet it felt as though it was only days. Upon sun up one day, when he who Stygian now considered to be his uncle, his adopted father, his birth father’s sworn brother in arms, approached him and asked after his wellbeing and where his parents were, his way of life and perspective changed, again, forever.

That was the beginning of his time with the Jiang sect, the purple-eyed toms and she-cats who were led by the fiercest yet kindest of all, next to his arranged mate who, though she cared deeply for her children, hid a wicked tongue toward himself.

The black tom glanced down at his paws, far too lost in thought to recognize someone approaching. He was out, far beyond where the other nomads of SwiftClan would linger and set up camp, as he knew if he remained close, his adoptive brother would find him and would still, as he always has, not understand why Stygian would fall so far into his mind at the memories of his being adopted.

He lifted his head and glanced up at the bright orange skies of midday. How long would he last, keeping a firm hold on his tongue, allowing his thoughts to fester but find no release?