Months and dates meant nothing to Cloud, seasons were his calendar. He remembered that it was around this time, when the days grew warmer and longer, a time known as summer that his younger brother was born. Sky would have been two by now, just a year younger than Cloud. He would have been excited at the prospect of having larger antlers, he would have been trying to take on every stag he came across. He would have been happy. In a perfect world, Sky would have been alive to celebrate growing a year older. But the world was not perfect.
Cloud carried the assortment of flowers that he had so carefully picked earlier to the birch forest. Sky had always loved the birch forests back at their old home range, he'd said they made him feel safe and comfortable. How ironic that such a place would also be where he would die.
Cloud stopped beneath a tree situated deep in the forest and laid the flowers down at it's base. His task done, he stepped back for a moment, reminiscing about what should have been, could have been, and how it was.
Why do I still linger? He wondered, Maybe I just can't let go.
Cloud raised his head skyward and forced a smile even though he was breaking on the inside. He would always smile for Sky, no matter what.
"Happy birthday, little brother."