Something was wrong.

Some feeling of... wrongness churned up in his belly. It was something he'd learn to trust - his mother had encouraged on his gut instinct anyway, even if his gut told him to lick her directly on the mouth every time he saw her.
He missed her, he decided.
Regardless, it woke him up. It spun him away from his dreams of dark trees and watching faces, away from the swirling void of black, purple and blues that hung over his head. It took him back to the little bone shelter he moved himself into. He couldn't bare to sleep around the stench of his mother - not because he couldn't bare it, but because he would frequently wake up expecting her to be there.

After all. There were more blank walls here. More canvases to paint on. He'd already began painting in an attempt to forget about it - but it lead him to thinking about it even more. He painted his mother - grinning and hunched as she always was. Bones found it strange how, despite only being a little older than everyone else, she looked like years and years had weighed down on her already.

There was Bevy - or Enna, she had called herself. The bird who saved his legs. Small, but proud. There was his brothers, Booker and Kerberos. Side by side, strong and supportive. Stronger than Bones himself ever could be, at least. There was his grandfather and his aunts; both of which he had barely seen. He wasn't sure if he was fond of them, however - but he could feel his patience for younger gembounds grow thinner each day.

He felt his paws drag along as he observed his work with a femur bone in his jaws. He knew more people and he was sure of it; the dragon that almost took his legs was on the other side of the room, faded and smudged. Perhaps he should move him.