He first noticed the bird, there among a flock of a different kind. Starkly contrasting his adopted brethren, his white-grey coat seemingly betraying the apparent feeling of comfortable inclusion among them. The memories of his truer family long forgotten, he sensed his future with unperturbed optimism. You see, he was one of them. A wandering, nomadic, hunter seeking for his next meal, the next repetitious, often cursory, ritual bent on survival... yet always the hope of something more lingers. He travels with this largely unguided crew of fellows, a light among the darks, sensing his hopes can become something more substantial than survival... Is it truly survival without hopes anyway?
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