Firefly Ravine 彡(-_-;)彡

Keeping things regarding the outcome of his precious thread vague.

It was cold.

Colder than anything he could remember having felt before. As much as he tried, he found it to be incredibly difficult to get warm again.

His stomach ached.

When had he last eaten something? Something fresh, something warm—when was that? Kubo was not a good hunter—how could he be when no one had taught him, when he’d yet to experience the thrill of attending a hunt with the adults—and thus had been forced to feed off of abandoned carrions whenever he came across them. Sometimes they were rotted, sometimes they made him vomit, but each time he was still driven by hunger to take in as much as would fit in his stomach.

Kubo missed home.

He had absolutely no idea where he was now, no clue as to how to get back. All he knew was to keep moving forward, keep moving until he found someone that did know. Perhaps then he’d find his warmth again but, for the time being, he was far from it. It was by a stroke of sheer luck that he happened across an old, abandoned den—how warm, how familiar, it was—into which he dove and curled up within, searching for the warmth his own body could provide him with.