The day drew closer like a predator. It loomed, both as a celebration ahead and a large beast awaiting a meal.

His anniversary.

Sure, it was still weeks away. The meaning was still there.

In a few weeks, he'd have been in the forest for one year. It usually was a momentous occasion, filled with celebrating... a birthday. Moss wanted that, secretly, but it wasn't something he could have.

Not with the anniversary also being that of his death in his old world.


That was the day he killed not only himself, but the happiness of his friend the heron. He plummeted to earth like Icarus that day.





One year. A new chance that he took, and embraced.

The countdown starts.