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It was that terrible monster, that dreadful thing, that clawing, aching, bestial claw raking through his chest that summoned them again. He could remember all too well the depths of distortion flooding before his eyes – the little mountain boy who’d only wanted to follow his mother, who still didn’t quite understand that she was never going to return.   A part of him, because he was young, because he was a child, because the entire making of the world was difficult to comprehend, hoped that with Kaos’ appearance, his dam would soon follow suit. He was hungry, he was tired, and despite his father’s best intentions (because there was so much love and affection there), he was incomplete; his stomach gnawed and rumbled, his head hurt and craved, his motions were lethargic, nearly fragile, and he simply wanted his dam. It was a primitive, ancient inclination, sewn by primordial beings long before his time, that desperate, grasping need for one’s creator, and his buoyant, ebullient joy had been steadily robbed in her absence. He needed her – and the incessant, brewing yearning spurned him on and on, until he thought his limbs were trembling, until his head bobbed, weakened and fatigued, until he saw outlines of so many big, powerful, brawny, enduring beasts, and knew she had to be here amongst them.   But then there was only Iskra – familiar and family, and he immediately went for the blaze of blue and gold, barely listening to the throngs and echoes of learning (he did that every day – how could it be any different?), barely akin to the apprehension glowering through his entity again, for every other notion was too strong, too potent. He could hardly note any other presence save for Iskra, clinging to him, depleted, fracturing before he’d ever really had a chance, leaning his head into the older lad’s shoulder, whispering into the void. “Iskra?” His eyes threatened to shut, because he was ridiculously tired, and it weighed on him, so much that he had to shift his feet to ensure he remained upright. “Do you see my mom out there?” Mauna CROWNS HAVE THEIR COMPASS-LENGTH OF DAYS THEIR DATE- TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE- OF NOUGHT BUT EARTH CAN EARTH MAKE US PARTAKER, BUT KNOWLEDGE MAKES A KING MOST LIKE HIS MAKER.

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@Iskra