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Summary
Logan shivered as he watched the sky darken, small stars beginning to dot along the night sky. He pulled his arms closer to his body, placing his hands in between his legs, his feet tucked tightly underneath him. The thin scraps of linen that made up his shirt and pants, combined with the dampness of the mud he was laying on, were a poor defense against the chill of the night.
He peered up at the sky, and wondered if there may have been a time where he could put a name to the shapes that were painted in front of him. Some nights he had flashes of memories of going out into the woods, with who he thought was maybe his father and brother. But when he tried to look closer at either man, their faces were a blur, no discernable features, no recognizable expressions. Their names were lost, along with whatever the name was for the big spoon in the sky.
Logan wasn’t sure if the memories were a curse or a gift.