Astraea

He was only a child when he first met him. Eight, to be exact. His family had rented out a cabin to stay for their week-long winter vacation, and he, like any child, had gotten quickly bored as well as fed up with staying inside. So he ventured outside, exploring the woods around the cabin.  Unfortunately, though, he had, like any other child, foolishly lost himself quite quickly in the woods. Honestly, he hadn’t wondered too far from the main road, but his younger self didn’t know that, not back then.

He’s never cried so hard since that day, heaving as if he was having some kind of diaphragmatic attack and sniveling what seemed so incessantly, tears rolling down his face in what he deemed the cold cruelty of the English winter. Alone and lost in the woods and a million thoughts racing through his head.

Oh, no, he was lost. Oh no. No, no, no, no. Oh no. He was lost. And no one would find him. He’d be here forever. And Mum, Dad, and Sarah… His whole family would wonder where he was.

And they wouldn’t find him.

His anxiety and worry built on itself, only furthering his panic and causing his reaction to escalate to such a horrendous degree, his whimpering having long turned into downright sobbing.

“Child, what is wrong?”

His crying lessened to mere sniffling for a moment as he looked up at the kneeling stranger in front of him. Raven black hair, neatly combed back - a striking contrast to the stranger’s white skin and the white landscape around them - allowed a clear look at the curious man’s face. Skin so smooth, expression concerned, yet patient, and a voice he would never forget. It was soft as well as immensely soothing. And it had worked like a charm, quickly calming him down.