Was there supposed to be a limit on how far you’re supposed to go to hide in a game of hide-and-seek? Or, for that matter, was there a time limit on how long it was supposed to take someone to find you? Pax was pretty sure he had wandered too far, but he was also pretty sure it had been days since this game had started.

Or had it finished?

He could no longer remember if either of his moms or his sister had found him before he left the warm glow of the fire horns, slipping into the darkness with a small giggle.

Spikey Mom would find him in a heartbeat if he was really lost, he was sure, and Spotty Mom would be right on her heels. It doesn’t occur to Pax that this darkness is a strange thing, he’d been born into it, after all, and how could he possibly begrudge something that he matches so well?

The yearling boy loses track of time again moving through the forest, earning a few new scratches here and there, before he emerges from the border with a triumphant leap. Except… oh. This isn’t Loess! His ears prick at the sound of a river and he grumbles to himself about how home had clearly picked up and moved and how completely unfair that was. Kicking a rock and watching it splash into the near-blackness of the water helps a little bit.

Well. He definitely just won this game of hide and seek (that he was maybe playing a week ago) but what was he supposed to do now?