Ghost Lion Crag youngblood

He couldn't find a good reason to turn around and head back to the vale. It should've been easy, but it wasn't. Knowing that the vale was in his proverbial rear-view mirror was important even if Titmouse refused to actively acknowledge it; that place would always be there, he surmised. It was his safety net. If nothing else, he could return should he fail. 

That was the thought anyways. The hope. With the way things were going for Titmouse, he was running out of hope - and fast. Hope had become gasoline fumes within his engine; doubt and panic had replaced nearly everything now, corrosive and black. There was no bright side to this, he had come to realize. It had only been a month since the fool had fled the vale - but he'd suffered without Liffey, without Rannoch, and all that the vale represented.

His family wasn't gone, he had left them. Twice, he had left them. After waking with this thought almost two weeks ago, Titmouse knew what he had to do. In order to survive, he'd have to find them again. Facing Liffey was not something he was keen on doing (deep down he missed her, but if anyone asked him now, he'd still refuse to claim her as family). That left one other option: find mom and dad. Find the caldera.

The boy did not know where to start. He had gone so far from the vale already. Tit knew the vale was far removed from the caldera, but not by how much distance. He didn't know the direction to head. There were too many questions, too much to consider, and he swiftly became overwhelmed as he made his decisions.

Linger among the trees, or follow the river? Camp out by the lake to recover some energy, or try his hand at fishing? He had grown thin and lissome; not exactly skeletal, because he did eat, but more like... A thin grey whisp, half the man his father - his real father - would've looked like at this age. His muscle had stripped to the bare basics, and although Titmouse felt weak and insecure now, his body was being cultivated into something stronger. He no longer noticed the long hours of running or the limited diet he had become restricted to; he made it work, he survived. But all the same, decisions had to be made, and he wasn't sure.

He just wanted to be sure.

So when the dawn of the final day came and he did not see anything even remotely familiar around him, the young man was close to giving up. He thought of his options again and again, and while his feet kept moving and he could feel his skin burning with his racing pulse, he knew he'd have to stop soon. He'd have to settle. Find somewhere, anywhere, and start over.

The caldera could wait another day.