4. Memory

Karok dreams not in color, but in black and white and grays because the world he is accustomed to seems to be that way, so it is only fair that it reflects in the sanctity of his inner world as well.

Sometimes his dreams hold the key to a door that he doesn't want to open, but he does anyways because he isn't one to cower from a weakness, while others bring forth a memory of something fun and so remarkable and noteworthy that Karok never, ever, wants to forget if he can help himself.

There was one memory in particular of his youth as his father calmly lead him to the middle of their campsite. His deep voice, roughened by the trials he had faced from the world, was hushed and although Karok no longer can remember what words he had said, there was nothing more worldly and awe-inspiring as his father carefully handing his newborn sibling to him, his trust in him deep enough to allow him to hold the precious babe. His mother, her face gaunt and tired but glowing with relief, whispered words that were eclipsed by the howling winds of the barren plains.

As Karok sleepily blinks awake on his cot, the twin moons glowing softly from the dark night sky above, he muses on the thought of that while his birth parents and younger sibling were long gone from this earthly plane, he wouldn't trade his new "siblings" for anything else in the world:

Kindred.