Jason wandered the woods, his fingers covered in small cuts and blisters, his dirty feet leaving a trail of muddy imprints on the snowy forest floor. It'd been three days since the last mushroom, and now the only thing left to eat were the roots of what plants he could find.

His mother had been dead for a few weeks now, her addiction to the strange liquids she got at the alchemy shop having finally killed her. It'd been a long time coming. She'd been wasting away for years, but her death had been unexpected, and Jason hadn't had the chance to prepare for it. He'd had to dig a hole for her with his bare hands, his only companions the bugs and the rats and the hungry vultures flying overhead, all the while wishing that someone would take him away from the awful shack that had been his home.

And his wish had come true, though not in the way he'd wanted. A group of men whom Jason had recognized as his father's "friends" had come by and stripped the place bare, taking his mother's belongings and any valuables. Jason's father had been in prison for years. The men had offered no explanation, and simply barked at the boy to get out.

He spotted a small cave by a stream and made his way there. If he couldn't find food, at least the cave could provide some shelter. He spent a few hours gathering branches and moss to form a makeshift bed, and although he tried to make a fire, the wood was damp and the spark wouldn't catch.

"Damn it," he cursed, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "What am I supposed to do? I don't know how to hunt..." There were tears in his eyes, and his stomach growled. Jason angrily swiped a hand across his face. "Stop crying," he ordered himself, his voice breaking. "Stop it."

He curled up in the pile of sticks and moss, sniffling quietly, letting out the occasional hiccup as his body shook with cold and fear and grief. He shouldn't want his mom. She wasn't good to him. But right now, he'd trade everything to be back in that tiny shack, even if it meant having her yell and smack him.