Bridging the gap

The boy had often been in his sort of self-induced isolation, choosing the company of his own thoughts to that of actual physical wolves. That had been a choice, and while his most recent absence had started as a choice as it turned out, forcibly being kept within the den had a negative impact upon even Soren. Only shortly after joining the painted woman's pack the boy had found himself coming down with something and thinking of his younger and still weaker siblings he had separated himself from them.

Weeks had bled into each other till Soren could no longer tell if he had been sick only a few days or many many years. Occasionally he had been forced to leave his self-imposed quarantine in order to scrounge up something to eat, he would hardly recover on an empty stomach. Still he had done his best to avoid others at those times for fear of passing whatever it was he had on.

In his brief moments of lucidity he had been admittedly amused by the irony, once upon a time he had chastised his family for disappearing without any indication of their intentions and yet here he was locked away and having not told even his mother what was happening.

This morning as he woke, the sun seemed almost too bright, too sunny. For the first time in what felt like ages he was aware of the acrid scent of sickness around him. Soren groaned and stretched, testing his limits. The monochromatic boy set about cleaning himself up, a daunting task under normal circumstances but the sickness had not allowed for much chance at so much as keeping his fun from ruffling.