Food filled the void.
The emptiness within him, the fear, the loneliness.
People merely assumed he had a large appetite, which he did, but he ate more than he needed too.
Not that it showed, he worked off the excess in secret, running, fighting, sparring.
But still he ate, consumed, devoured, trying to fill himself, to feel some semblance of control.
But things kept spinning away, trickling though his fingers like water.
And so he tried and tried to fix things, to keep everything right, but beneath his calm exterior he screamed for help.
Yet no one heard.
And so he ate.