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If someone was to study things closely, they would find more meaning in the breezes that softly rolled past camp. These gentle, pleasant winds muttered something more dark, perhaps behind a mask of refreshing gusts. It seemed as if it murmured, something isn't right here. And those winds couldn't be more truthful.
As a normal day continued, with only small clouds and sprinkles of rain, the uneasy pressure that tried to contact some remained. Sight-wise, it wasn't right either. There was no thin, fragile serval that usually perched on roofs, ignoring the danger and risk he was putting himself in. Leaves took his place in small portions, as autumn conquered summer over. A cool and happy season autumn was. Summer and winter were seen as perfect opposites, and if that was so, spring and autumn complimented eachother. They were such preferable seasons, not too warm, not too cold. A power couple at best.
Yet Crispus wasn't focusing on the seasons, nor how pleasant autumn was. He was whisked away at the least expectant point of day, where clanmates bustled in groups and nobody would be able to notice the boy was gone. It might've crossed someone's mind, but he had been sighted earlier in the day, so a common immediate thought was that he was okay. He, however, was not okay.
Kidnapped to live in another clan, to stay there and risk death if he attempted an escape. Left there to worry constantly over his family and friends, to cry incredibly large amounts during the day. Kept in a room because he didn't ever want to go outside and accept his fate. And to him, he would rather have his guts replaced with glass just so he could be with his family again.
Crispus did not fear admitting he had fear. He would talk to anyone he could about missing his family. What had he done to be punished in this sort of form - one that was worse than death and suffering itself? Absolutely nothing. Sure, he had said a swear word before, but that was an accident, a mere mistake made by a curious and intrigued heart. He was innocent, yet he had been branded with the severe burden of someone far more cruel and evil than him.
And yet, he still had small amounts of hope, even though his soul was dampened with giving up, stained with suicidal thoughts that sometimes passed through his head, shot him like a arrow that he craved to have yet was absolutely repulsed by at the same time. It hurt him to have such thoughts, to accept death with arms more than open wide. These thoughts were uncommon, but only because he wanted to stay alive ofr everyone he knew. There was no care for himself there.
Nobody could track him down. No professional had covered up their tracks, but no scent was left behind. And if it was, it was very stale. Only the best noses could place a identification on the strange scent. Some could recognize it, if they ever knew the Port Mafia's group scent. But, it was difficult to find him.
For now, he would be kept captive in a so-called "paradise", but all it was to him was hell. The serval was absent for the time being, and would remain held somewhere he absolutely disliked - this was the first time he had even came close to hating something. Even his constant injuries were getting finer and less painful to him, yet he still cried and remained weak - and there wasn't any proof of his location. Crispus was in this a l o n e.