[fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt;]When Palatino was very small, he was warm. He was a very little body, but there were lots of other little bodies, too, and there was a big body from which he derived comfort and safety. Most little bodies are vulnerable at that stage, but Palatino was a tad more vulnerable than most; inches between him and the bigger body, or between him and multiple little bodies, saw his own body grow cold and sluggish and sickly. He'd try to cry, during those moments, his own little body trying to find the fellow little bodies, or the bigger body, so that he could make contact and begin to warm himself up again. Sometimes, he grew so cold that he couldn't cry out, making strange, rattling noises in his throat in the hopes that it would draw the bigger body closer.
Fast-forward a three months, and Palatino is still very much a little body. Yes, he's a little bigger, due to age, but for his age, he is very tiny. Somewhere in between being this little and being newborn-little, Palatino got lost, or stolen, one of the two, maybe a mixture of both, stranded out of the territory he knew as his home and completely open to attack or death. Out there, in the wild, with no signs of life, he grew very cold again, and he cried out, because from experience, that made the bigger body come closer. It failed, that time, and it failed all the times after that, until he again grew so cold that he couldn't cry out, making those same, strange, rattling noises in his throat, his final attempt at salvation.
Once again, that salvation did not come. But Palatino did not die, not entirely. He died a little, somewhere in that icy, unforgiving world, even as the sun grew warmer and the flowers bloomed; he remained cold. But as slow and sluggish as Tino grows when he gets cold, he did not freeze over, no. His small limbs stirred, quietly defiant, and he began to wander. His defiant paws didn't ever take him very far, and on some days, observers would see him merely meandering in tiny circles, as if he believed he was actually going anywhere. He ate what he could find, and that was usually grass. For such a little body, it wasn't a healthy diet. Today, Tino is not a healthy little body.
When Tino was somewhere in the middle of his third month of life, his little head grew little nubs, hard bumps that will later develop into antlers. They itched a lot, and for a few days, Tino became further confused and erratic, stumbling blindly until he stood on the edge of a steep decline. And then, because he didn't stop stumbling blindly, Tino's little body went rolling down that steep decline, bumping against rocks and roots and earning himself bruises and cuts until he came to a halt at the bottom. By that point, however, Tino was no longer awake, and he stayed like that for a long time, until the bruises had disappeared and the cuts had healed over. Miraculously, Tino's little body went untouched or undiscovered by predators. Perhaps because it's so little.
Fast forward again to a few days after Tino hit the bottom of that particularly steep decline, and the pup finally wakes up. When he did wake up, he was very confused, understandably, but it was odd, because.. something about what he first saw was familiar. However, months of being isolated have led to a distinct lack of socialisation, and Tino struggles with certain things. Recognising faces and places, understanding basic concepts, language — so he just shrugged it off, paddled his feet until he stood upright, and set off again in a staggering, uneven line. He continued like this until he reached a border, and then he stopped; it's where he's been for the last half an hour, seemingly fascinated by a new scent. He looks a mess, scruffy fur around his forelegs, unkempt fur and malnourished stature making him look almost-dead, but he's not quite there yet.
To most people, he'll be unfamiliar. But Tino's little body is perhaps recognisable by some; he has a parent here, the famed bigger body that he knew in his earliest moments. Of course, by this point, Tino won't recognise appearances; he relies on scents, smells, trails that he can follow with his nose rather than his eyes, and perhaps that's why he's so fascinated by the smell of the border. If anyone happens to stumble across him on a patrol, they'll find him like this, rolling around on the rainforest floor with his nose twitching eagerly.
[hr]