N.B. I think by now it's clear I can't do drabbles, or even legit one-shots. This time, I can't even guarantee this is going to be a two-parter. I'm just going to keep plugging away at this thing until it's done and make no promises as to length (rough guesstimate is between 30K and 50K words though).

Originally written for AkuRokuRiSo Month 2015. It just got a tad out of hand, like usual. Remind me: what is brevity again?

Prompt: Lost
Main pairing: SoRiku
Rating: T
Prompter: theisraelproject107

It started with an argument that never should've happened. He never should have strayed so far from the rest of his group either, or let Roxas storm off on his own. By the end of a single day, Sora had managed to collect so many "shouldn't haves" he'd have been able to feed his entire community, if only behavioral negligences were composed of some form of substantive sustenance.

He'd been mindful of their route at first, truly, had kept his eyes trained on the ground as they walked, on the lookout for edibles, and for plants all community members had been taught to retrieve for Aerith the moment they'd been old enough to take instructive directions. A full repository of herbal supplies meant a better chance that Aerith could treat injuries they sustained, that she'd be able to heal the inevitable illnesses that were associated with the harsh life they lived.

Moreover, Aerith always rewarded the most prolific collectors among them, both with praise and a share of her evening meal, a portion large enough to make constant vigilance worth the effort for Sora. Times were lean and food was in many ways akin to sacred; this was no major revelation for any among them.

Without question though, times were far worse for someone with a sickly brother. Roxas could use as much extra nourishment as Sora could obtain for him, whether it came from halving his own paltry meal quota or a show of gratitude on Aerith's part. The latter just meant Sora was less likely to go hungry himself, at least for one day. That was as much as any of them could really hope for.

The further they got from the beach, however, the fewer useful greens they were seeing, and Sora found his thoughts drifting, eyes rising away from the ground and beyond the path their community was forging up to the mountains towering charcoal dark against an off-white sky, clear with the promise of impending winter.

He found himself starting to daydream about a handful of things, on becoming a hunter next season, about the anticipation of their evening meal and the subsequent rest period before they rose and began their journey again. Even spirits taking the form of animals crossed his mind, patchwork remnants of Weaver's myriad stories told every evening during the warm months; the subject didn't matter so much as the fact that, once given purchase, the thoughts simply weren't content to reside far enough in the recesses of his mind so that he could effectively multitask.

Partially, it was an inherited trait, something he'd always heard was a gift passed down his line, just as much as it was a curse due to the inattention that came along with it. Usually, dreams were seen as portends, scrutinized for hidden meaning, and heeded if Advisor found prudence in so doing.

If he'd been older, all these dreams, all the ideas that resulted from them, might have been afforded more respect.

As it was, the moment the glassy-eyed expression began manifesting in a manner that was outwardly visible, the only thing these internal images and ideas usually ended Sora up with was a sharp cuff across the back of his neck.

It was hunger as well. Raw and gnawing and ever-present, it was as much a constant as Kairi's and Selphie's persistent chattering, and his brother Roxas' increasingly beleaguered expression as the days of their journey toward Winter Home wore on so slowly.

The lack of food sources had left an impact well beyond their small community. The wildcats were getting bolder, the bears honing their abilities to access kills brought back by the hunters. Cloud had even been forced to assign a multi-person overnight detail to keep them from scaling the trees and destroying the spoils of their hunting party's most recent efforts, insufficient enough already to feed all of their group without interference from meddlesome animals.

No one questioned that the ice was driving prey away, as much as it was killing the plants. Also left unspoken but a truth not unnoticed among the least of them was the realization that a pack of wolves had been tailing their procession now for days.

Thus far, they'd been keeping their distance, coming and going usually after nightfall, eyes glinting in the dim luminescence of moonlight. They weren't as overtly ferocious as the wildcats, not as brazen as the bears. What the wolves were was persistent, with at least one of them spotted daily at the wary peripherals of the community's collective vision. What they all knew was these creatures were desperate, just as hungry as the rest of them. No one dared give the observation viability through spoken word, however. No one wanted to give the corresponding conclusion any more validity than was necessary.

To Sora, the wolves were just a part of everyday life as they migrated from their summer settlement to the safety of the winter cave outcroppings. The hunger, too. To an extent, it was all he could remember. The years of plenty had ended when he'd been an infant; all he had now were Weaver's evening stories, and Advisor's sage words that more bountiful days would one day return, if only the spirits could be somehow appeased.

Unconsciously, Sora's eyes drifted away from the ground again, scanning the scattering of trees around them. They were mostly dead this late in the season, their thick trunks with discordant spindly branches reaching skyward as though beseeching the spirits for a tangible form of the same salvation his community was desperately seeking.

Because they'd been silent for too long, the spirits, and even Advisor was becoming increasingly uneasy, although he had yet to share these concerns with the community as a whole. It was in his posturing, in the perplexed expression that remained long after he'd returned from his nightly prayers. If Sora could identify it, others could as well. Probably as a direct result of it, people were quicker to disagreements, to bickering with one another about the most inconsequential of things.

One arm reaching, unconsciously seeking, Sora's hand brushed against the small wooden token secured within his side pack. It also held two small weapons, a stick of flint, and a strip of salted venison from the hunter's last successful return. As much as he was tempted to alter his focus, to retrieve the food and stave off the near constant rumbling his stomach was making for another few hours, he held back, ever mindful that his brother might end up needing it more in the near future.

Instead, he traced the carved token with an index finger and his thumb, one digit steadying the figurine, the other sliding across the top of it lengthwise. At the same time, he found himself surveying their current location, scanning the area out of nervous habit. He hadn't seen the wolves for nearly a day. As Sora shot another glance at his surroundings, he noted that they didn't seem to be present now either.

Just the same, the habitual action of rubbing the token, his most prized possession, brought with it a level of comfort.

As much as he was instinctively fearful, he was also fascinated by the wolves, marveling at the variance in their red and sienna and grey-white markings, admiring the luster of eyes that seemed almost intelligent. Much more plainly, he also could see the hunger written across the physical ridges of their spines, in the angular bones of their narrow haunches and the curve of ribs missing sufficient fat over muscle to conceal them even from the distance from which he observed them. They were skeletons, living, breathing flesh over bones as much as the members in his community were gradually becoming themselves, all victims of the displeasure of spirits they hadn't realized were angry until the damage had already been done, had left them all confused and reeling and increasingly despairing about the certainty of their collective future.

Although he wasn't Advisor, couldn't claim a personal relationship with the spirits, was incapable of appealing to them for benevolence, sometimes Sora feared it was far too late to make up for whatever transgressions had angered them so much in the first place.

Having known about the wolves and other predatory creatures that posed a realistic threat, it had also probably been inadvisable to wander as far as he had on his daily excursion for Aerith that morning. But Sora had never been one to think about the consequences of his actions before they'd taken tangible form. By then, it was usually too late to take them back; in that way, his own behaviors mirrored his thoughts about their current situation with the communal spirits. It seemed somehow ironically appropriate when he looked back on it later.

In his defense, Cloud had granted even younglings like him permission to break from the group in search of herbs for Aerith and supplemental food for all of them. It was encouraged to move further afield from the procession and gather anything that may have evaded their watchful eyes the first time by retracing their steps, as long as they went with at least one other, and Sora had been with Roxas. It was allowed. This was fine.

It should have been, at any rate. What it turned out to be instead was just another "shouldn't have" to add to his growing collection.

With his snailish ambling and dour expression, it'd felt like Roxas was holding up his progress, even though Sora knew he should've been more patient. His brother had only recently gotten over an illness, one they had all feared would be his last this time. It very well might have been if not for Aerith's dedicated attention. Apart from the prospect of a larger meal portion, this was precisely why Sora knew how crucial it was to continue searching out the plants she needed, to bring her back as many as they could find to ensure her enduring supply.

Life was short. It was harsh. But it'd be considerably more of both if not for a healer of her apothecary prowess.

Sora knew he shouldn't have been irritated by Roxas' slow progress, because he understood where it derived. Just the same, both were young and impulsive, tempers short from continued hunger. They'd fought and exchanged biting words neither had meant. Ultimately, Roxas had stormed off, and Sora had found himself at the border of a dead forest and parched-dry plain alone, the mountain range in front of him his only silent, mocking witness to an unnecessary fraternal disagreement.

In the beginning, he'd been more concerned about inciting Cloud's wrath when it got out that he'd disobeyed a direct order to travel in pairs than he was about the prospect of being left by himself. Sora was small, and Sora was young, but if there was one thing he and every other community member knew how to do, it was to defend themselves. He had in his constant possession a well-made sling and a handful of carefully selected stones for felling smaller animals or warding off anything larger, as well as a sharp knife that was useful both for cutting and in instances necessitating close combat. After years of practice with the instruments, Sora was adept enough at both to feel reasonably confident in his abilities. After all, in just one more season, he'd be allowed to join the hunters on more involved food-seeking excursions. By logical extension, he was practically an adult himself then.

He also had his wooden token and the aeriform personification of the spirit it invoked. Everything would be fine, he assured himself without much overt concern as he made his way in the direction he'd last seen the main procession of community members.

He hadn't expected the violent quaking beneath his feet any more than he'd anticipated the ear-splitting sound of rocks tumbling, of the earth opening, angry and cavernous in front of him. Unable to maintain balance amid the relentless shaking, Sora fell to his knees, wrapped his hands over his neck as he cowered, trembling, and silently implored the world to right itself.

It couldn't have lasted longer than a few shuddered breaths. By the time the ground stilled and Sora was brave enough to open his eyes again, a short-lived eternity seemed to have passed, and nothing seemed quite the same as he remembered it. The mountains seemed different, less rotund, more boulders spread out and closer to him than they'd once been. The earth had opened in myriad places, and the ground around him was littered with everything from small veins and cracks to fissures large enough for him to fall into if he wasn't mindful of each and every step.

Sora stared, tried to make sense of what had just happened. Advisor might have said it was a sign, spirit-sent. Weaver would have explanations to spin into drawn-out tales that would delight the tykes for days.

But Roxas …what would Roxas say? Had he felt this, too? What about the rest of his community? His mother…

With a growing sense of dread, Sora stood on quivering legs and darted forward. He ran without slowing, dodging in and out of the petrified forest and around newly formed ground cracks, deer hide foot coverings slapping a muffled sound against the dry grass beneath both feet. Sora ran until he was nearly out of breath, ran as though he were being chased by a wildcat, dipping and darting around familiar landmarks on his way back to the last place he'd seen his group.

It was only when he came to the spot where he and Roxas had departed on their initial trek, only when he tread over the ground already worn smooth by the feet of other community members, that he slowed to a stop and took in his newfound surroundings.

They weren't where he'd seen them earlier that morning. Not Roxas. Not any of them.

Blinking a little in the direct line of glaring sunlight, Sora squinted and twisted, looking every visible direction around him.

Nothing. None of the familiar sounds of the gatherers, no noises that a community of this size would traditionally make. No trace of anyone. Despite his fatigue, Sora continued on, tracking the path his community had made, moving as quickly as possible, a feeling of foreboding building within him the further forward he traversed.

So focused on the trail immediately in front of him, Sora almost missed the gaping hole and the last jagged edge of solid earth in front of it until he'd nearly careened over it. As it was, it took considerable effort to check his balance, arms flailing, muscles in both legs tensing to keep himself upright and on solid ground.

Once steady, he simply stared, overwhelmed by the size of the jagged aperture as much as he was certain he couldn't realistically jump over it. He paced the length of it, eyeing the build-up of rocks on the far bank that blocked the path his community usually took toward the winter caves, then peered into its impervious depths, eyes straining to see if he could make out anything. Or anyone. In a moment of desperation, he called out, then held his breath, waiting for a responding shout.

The silence was stagnant, the realization it brought with chokingly unrepentant.

He was alone, and for the first time since he'd parted ways with Roxas, Sora had the good sense to feel frightened.

o - o

He wasn't sure how long he'd wandered, emotionally shifting between panicked and listless. He couldn't say how many times he'd retraced their earlier path, then forged onward, making a roundabout journey he hoped might get him back on track toward the route they'd taken last season, before Sora was willing to admit that he was adrift, and that no one was coming for him.

They'd been separated in late morning, he and Roxas. Sora knew that much. By mid-afternoon, it was becoming increasingly obvious how little time remained before the sun began setting, before it ceded to night and he'd need to seek some form of shelter from the bitter weather that came standard with this seasonal interim before winter.

That wasn't even accounting for the nocturnal predators he was well aware were roaming the area, the lupine opportunists in particular that were simply waiting for an opening, a sign of weakness from a vulnerable creature. Stifling fear deriving from that realization alone necessitated an impressive allocation of his mental reserves so he could focus on what he had to do to keep himself moving forward, to finding shelter before impending night.

Despite his brisk pace, the mountains still seemed so far away. The shifting of earth that afternoon had brought with it a new, rockier terrain, however, boulders and even stone hills that seemed much closer. These rocky outcroppings became Sora's short-term aim. Whether he'd find a haven there so close to the dead forest and exposed plains, he couldn't say. He also had no alternative.

With a watchful eye on his surroundings and gaze trained up toward his destination, no longer searching the ground for a hint of anything edible, Sora forced himself to increase his pace again, despite his increasing hunger and the intermittent, cramping spasms in his back and legs. He forced himself to devise his own path toward what he could only hope would ultimately lead him back toward his community and their winter home all on his own.

o - o

It wasn't a cave he discovered so much as a crevice, a narrow divot that led deeper into one of the newly formed stone hill's rocky interiors. A tall but narrow fissure, it was suitable for no more than a small band of people to huddle inside at a time.

With only an hour or so left until dusk ceded to pitch-black night, it was also his only viable option for temporary shelter.

He spent the remaining daylight in search of kindling, breaking off branches and stripping bark from trees with his knife, even gathering dry grass and what little moss he could find this close to the craggy rocks. Although he was tired, the ache in his stomach pronounced, Sora worked at a brisk pace, knowing he'd need to collect enough to ensure the fire he created could last through the night.

What was a little discomfort, after all, when the alternative was far worse, much more enduring in its permanence?

He was situated by nightfall, perched at the ledge of the rock opening, grateful that the formation was shaped in such a way that the overhang extended out into the open enough to ensure any smoke his fire emitted would drift skyward and not into the enclosed space where he planned to wait out the dark.

Sitting crosslegged in front of a small bed of kindling he'd collected, hunching his shoulders up to help cover more of his neck with the fur lining of his clothing's outer shell, Sora reached into his pack and pulled out a flint stick and his knife. With a few quick slicing motions, he watched the shavings fall from his piece of flint into a small pile on the mound in front of him. Flipping his knife from sharp end to flat, he held the flint stick with his other hand and began the process of scraping one tool against the other, eyes hawkish as he watched for the telltale signs of sparks that would indicate his efforts were producing a sought-out result.

With concentration so acute he'd unconsciously begun worrying his teeth over the bottom of his lip as he kept up the dogged striking of both fire-producing instruments, Sora was wholly unaware of the pair of eyes on him. They watched from a safe distance, hidden by cover of a dead and dying forest, glinted when tilted at just the right angle in the muted light of a rising moon.

The first spark was a gift to him, a blessing, perhaps indicating approval and sent from the spirits Advisor had always said watched over him and the rest of their community. Angling his hands toward the kindling bed, Sora struck the flint again with the same technique that'd elicited the first dancing flurry of orange-red. The next two sparks caught, and with lightning quickness, Sora turned, reached for the larger supplies that he had plans to use to feed the fire for the remainder of the time he spent in this makeshift shelter.

The initial kindling burned quickly, and Sora was careful to ensure he got the bark and larger tree branches into the bed before it sputtered out. The moment he realized he'd been successful, he smiled his first smile since losing Roxas. It was an expression of self-satisfaction, of relief, followed quickly by an unavoidable sense of full-body exhaustion that even outweighed his lingering hunger.

Assured that he had at least a few hours before he needed to add more branches to the small fire, Sora shuffled away from the opening, a few body lengths deeper into the day-old crevice. His fatigue was palpable, almost paralyzing, and Sora found himself shivering in the ascetic cold of the stone hill's core, uninterested in even the prospect of making a meal from the salted meat he still carried along in his pack. Aware it was in his best interests to stay awake, he curled onto his side anyway, shaking from a combination of chill and pent-up concern about what had happened to the others, to Roxas in particular. Thin arms wrapped themselves around his own concave chest, hugging himself as substitution for a brother who usually performed the same gesture of affection toward him.

Eyes fixed on the licking blaze of the fire's hypnotic flames, Sora found his awareness drifting, shapes around him dissolving and flickering out of focus; the world was swaying, spinning, giving him the distinct sense that stones and boulders were about to crumble all around him, that soon he'd be free-falling indefinitely, limbs flailing and useless in front of him. Still shivering, one hand slipped lower, down to the pouch at his side, digits searching for the familiar smoothness of his wooden token.

Fingers curling around the small figurine, his eyes slipped closed of their own volition. Although the feeling of weightlessness didn't dissipate completely, it abated enough to offer a sense of temporary security. For the time being, that was all his weary mind, his grieving soul, needed to give in and succumb to unconsciousness.