Two nights ago, a boy was not found.
They were expecting a glinting gladness in his eyes, but found only an empty glare in their own. The boy did not appear the following night either, as another mission ended with aching calfs and pursed lips. Now it is tonight, and the search must go on. It has to. A boy is not yet found.

Two mornings ago, I left so they could find me.
I was expecting harsh words, warm embraces and tea with lots of sugar. But all I had was a few mushrooms, plucked from an unknown place. Another morning came and went, I made a better place to sleep in and failed to start a fire. Now its daybreak once again, I look for drier wood. I must carry on. I have to. The cold is coming, and I am not yet found.