The quiet hangs heavily against the patchwork of his pelt. Caster wonders where he’d left them. Those that he had known, those that he had loved, and unmistakably loves still. He wonders where he himself had been left, too, memories seeping into him from the mists only to muddle beneath the darkness that emanates from the corners of the Commons. Drenching his worry with what ifs and even stills.

When the tobiano approaches the mountain, the world around him simmers into a hazy complacency, curling up against him as though the instance was secluded to him, and him alone. Maybe it was.

Every second hangs as he climbs upward until his approach feels heavy and slow. Weighted like a thought, a remembrance that keeps him tethered to the summit. Tokens that build and bubble just beneath the surface tension, Cas seeks his memories, and like this climb—they leave him reaching for more ground, more comfort with each breath of exertion that he gains. Latching on to the pain, because perhaps, that’s where all of the answers were.

If he could not evoke his memories, perhaps he could learn to recognize what they had left behind.

May he feel what remains.