Chimera Fields (;*´Д`)ﾉ

It was by hunting mice and other small game, as well as scavenging off of abandoned carrions, that the boy managed to survive; he had left home without the proper knowledge, forcing him to learn along the way or die trying. Somehow, he managed, but it was not without trial and error. Each day was a learning experience, each night a lonely one, and every hunt a risk. Oftentimes he wished he were home and longed for his family—but, as time went on, he found that their faces were fading from his memory. He knew them by name and name alone, the voices that once spoke to him a mystery and their faces skewed.

The canvas of his past was terribly smudged, making it hard to miss it even when he knew that he should...

But perhaps that was for the best; he did not know it but he had travelled so far from the creek already, that his previously made decision to abandon all hope appeared smarter each day. And he did not stop, either—Kubo remained on the move at all times, stopping only when sleep was required. It was better this way, or so was how he felt, for the longer he moved meant the warmer he remained. Whilst that was no life for a child his age, the boy continued, trotting steadily across the snow that blanketed the land.