Morningside Cuesta it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise & rationality

artyom, surya repeated aloud, as if saying it would help him remember. the last few moons had been such a whirlwind that the strangers he'd met. . .the faces remained, the names did not. and as for the places— of whitebark creek, he continued, and nodded. where is that?

the man questioned his own whereabouts, and the yearling shook his head, turning—well—which way was home, again? he'd zig-zagged so often that he'd almost lost track; only the motion of the sun and moon could help him now. no, my family lives far to the south, he ventured a guess, knowing that the world had gotten considerably colder since departing. i'm traveling.

but for how long? it was a journey without a concrete end. a journey made from outrage and hurt. surya didn't know when to stop, when to give it up. when to go home. he had not yet forgiven his parents, but god, he missed them so!