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It’s dark when Grian runs into the forest.
There’s barely any thought behind the action. He’s having a bad night, or maybe it’s good, he doesn’t know, and he’s decided that he wants to be free, to be lost in the infinite soil and leaves and vines and thorns and sky.
He runs until his bare feet cannot carry him any farther, at which point he falls to his knees and stares up into the sky. Laughter bubbles in his chest, from a soft giggle to a manic cackle in seconds. He laughs and laughs and laughs, until his throat bleeds and his head pounds.
He doesn’t notice the tears streaming down his face until he goes to bury it in his hands. He’s confused- he doesn’t feel sad at all. Really, he feels amazing, like this is the best thing he’s ever done. He reaches a hand up to the sky like he’s trying to grab a handful of stars. He can almost feel his hand closing around them.
Something echoes in his brain, then, a honey-sweet whisper. It’s a promise of fun, of freedom, of more running and laughter and tears and pain and smiles and teeth. It sounds like heaven.
So Grian follows it, standing up on shaky legs and limping deeper and deeper into the forest. He’s already sure nobody will find him here. It’s just the way he wants it to be.
He only stops walking when one of his knees buckles and he falls to the ground, just barely managing to catch himself on bleeding palms. He lifts his head and he’s still smiling, because why wouldn’t he be? He’s free, and it’s the happiest he’s been in so long. And that sweet sound is still echoing in his head, closer now, so Grian drags himself towards it. He barely flinches when he nicks his hand on a sharp rock, staring at his bloody palm for a few very long seconds.
He drags himself until his arms are burning and shaking. He’s still trying, because he needs to get to the sound, but he can’t lift his arms anymore. So he gives up, rolling onto his back, lying on the ground and panting like a dog.
He lay there for a long time, probably. It feels like five seconds and five days at the same time. His thoughts are all like molasses when a face crowds his vision. His eyes don’t focus. His mouth tastes like saltwater.
“Are you alright?” A voice might have said, and the sound is sweet and thick, just like that awfully alluring sound. It makes Grian smile.
“Better than I’ve ever been,” Grian thinks he says. His tongue is so heavy and his jaw hurts so much that he thinks what might have come out instead was word mush. Regardless, the face smiles.
“You look tired, young one.” It says, and if he were more lucid, Grian would have snapped back, saying something along the lines of ‘I’m an adult,’ or ‘How could you tell?’. But alas, here he is, mouth full of cotton and vision hazy. He probably nods; his vision wobbles with the motion, anyways.
“What is your name?” The face asks.
“Grian,” He slurs without a second thought. It’s worth it, because the face smiles again and Grian feels so warm.
“Go to sleep, Grian. I will take care of you.” Grian’s eyes fill with tears again. Once again, he’s not sure why. The last thing he feels is the warmth of a kiss being pressed to his forehead before it all goes black.