Outside, the moon shone brightly. The soft light filtered through the cracks in the walls of an old barn. Not far from it stood a farmhouse, abandoned in the cool of the night. An old oak tree grew next to the house, a swing made of a wooden plank and a length of twine hanging from a lower branch. A soft breeze rustled through the shadowed leaves.
Inside the barn, a few mice scurried behind grain sacks, and a horse snorted in its sleep. A pitchfork stood forgotten against one wall, a water bucket upturned beside it. A cat slept curled in an opened trunk. The contents of the trunk were strewn around it, occasionally illuminated by a streak of moonlight.
The soft sound of ragged breath came from the hayloft. A small boy lay in a pile of loose hay, clutching a nondescript object in his hands. He trembled, though not from the coldness of the early spring night. His small legs were drawn to his chest, white nightdress already too short. His soft blonde hair quivered as his sholders shook, his eyes squeezed shut in unspoken pain. Barely suppressed tears leaked down his cheeks, though he hardly seemed to notice they were escaping.
He was despairingly whispering a name, the name of someone who had left and who he desperately missed. The name of someone who had promised to come back... and hadn't.
He was holding the someone's old jacket, left behind as a keepsake. The small boy pressed his face into the fabric, stuggling to contain his pain and fear as he inhaled the comforting and familiar scent. The scent of the salty ocean, of parchment and ink, tea, and the faintest trace of the cotton from which the jacket was made.
The child cracked his eyes open, revealing a vivid blue that swam with tears. He whimpered, peering at the darkness in front of him as he trembled. It was so dark. Silence stretched over him, drawing out his desperation, and he let out a whine. Cold. Scared. And alone.