This place was strange and so were the people. He hadn't been in the city for long, maybe a handful of weeks, and already his favorite spot was Hyde Park â€" a secret bench near the green pond, long limbed trees like a canopy. Sometimes it felt dreamy to sit at the edge of morning and watch the world unfurl its wings. Hannes liked the morning best, if only because they reminded him of home. What a faraway place it had become.

A distant, forgotten island comprised of his childhood memories. Every stone skipped, every pony ridden, every eyelash. He missed his mother and father, he missed the pastel evening skyline on the shores of the black pebbled coastline. No one could understand the lonesome feeling inside his chest, how all these things twisted up inside him until Hannes felt like he might burst.

Aside from home, he missed the ÃŒsolf, who became his home after a while. A comfort from the harshness of the world and the things he had to do. It felt these days like everything had been stripped from him and Hannes was left with his empty hands open, waiting for them to be filled again. His heart could not take anymore, it could not be split into anymore pieces.

Hanes had been so careful not to give himself away but still, it was enough. Now, he was trying to put it all back where it belonged and it brought him here. Sitting on a bench in Hyde Park under the shade of some flowery tree, breathing in the fresh air and holding it inside his lungs. It was good to have the sun on his face and the sound of birds in his ears, these natural things that made him feel connected with the world again. Hannes enjoyed being in nature, soaking it up, reminding himself where he came from. He knew how to care for many types of animals, plant garden, shear sheep, build barns, and fix machinery. Deep down he was not a hunter, he was a simple boy who wanted a simple life.

But things never work out the way they are intended to. It was part of their family heritage, a tradition passed down from father to son. Hannes was turned at the age of ten and his journey continued on now like his father and his father before him. It was a mark, ancient and sacred and treasured among his people. The hunter in him was primal and greedy, it was alive inside his veins even if he would prefer it lay dormant. Hannes wished he could cut it out, core himself like a rotten apple, but he knew it was something older than himself.

These thoughts weigh heavy on him. His eyebrows knit, his mouth puckers. Fingers idly pick at the torn patch at his knee. His deep green eyes survey the light, which has changed from warm to near burning as the sun climbed higher into the hazy sky.