[fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 449px; text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;]Nicolai Gabriel — or Nico to those he addressed, if such a moment ever occurred — was sat in a small secluded area of camp, playing with a small, smooth milky-white stone, rolling it about and touching it with his tiny paws. The four month old son of Proxystar had come to this same spot with this same stone for the last two weeks now and repeated this behaviour for the same amount of time at the same point during the day, pausing in whatever he'd been doing before with eerie accuracy for the moment and coming with this pebble to this little area of his. Whatever his motives were were unknown to all but he — if he knew himself — and would most likely remain that way.
Nicolai had... Trouble speaking to people. He found it hard to do so, found it hard to look them in the eye and conjure up real words that sounded genuine. He had a high, babyish and soft voice that rang with melancholy tones, and his round eyes held unspeakable loneliness for one so young. He had no friends. Other children often stayed away from him as a social outcast. He was afraid to go and talk to them himself — he didn't know how. So they kept out of his bubble and he kept in it, wanting and fearing company in a mad mixture of confusion.
The kitten continued to tap at his stone in the present day, dark and round eyes staring at its swirled surface.