There are things you just don't learn, growing up like Nero did, and even less will you remember after terrifying expiriences leave you low on good memories, or even nnot negative memories at all really, to feed off of. As it was there wasn't a word that really fit the condition he was left in, nothing could accurately say what had gone wrong. Even if there is a suitable adjective will he be able to comprehend it without question? He had watched them all from afar as they escaped as he tried to help the others, and he had made a promise that he would follow and take care of his family. He remembers this promise but in the most faint and subtle of ways, the way his pale sky blue eyes are drawn to them even when he does not intend to look, the way he feels a pull that is not hungry or fearful but warm. It is something he instinctively understands, and yet he has not offered a word to them yet.

He didn't forget everything of course, he still knew some things about himself, but very few they were, and sometimes very far between. It could seem a little disproportionate to what he should know, but doesn't remember about himself. What's so important about that anyways? He still doesn't remember why it's so important that he shouldn't remember, but that itself makes the whole ordeal completely and utterly redundant of itself, does it not?

With a mental growl, he shakes these thoughts that cling like spiderwebs, the thoughts in his mind growling and purring and silkenly caressing. Like a cat they are all fuzzy and purring and soft until they sink their claws in when displeased, it is much better to never just leave them out in the rain, oh well he would deal with these things as they rose up to meet him. Oh the things that come to his mind at times. Surely most different than what many think. Interesting concept, no?

He can't remember much of his home...either one of them. He can't remember much more than...red sand and fire and blood. He can't go back to check because it's gone, though here near this waterfall and watching it froth seemed almost familiar, drawing and calling his name. He sees a face in his memories fogged over but she had come to visit him often and they were friends he thinks, though he did not live with her, that much he is certain of. He also knows that he is different though he cannot place how. Surely he could not be a completely different wolf? "If only I knew what to think..." A low twisted whisper, the words sounded as though he spoke in whispered breaths under his voice all the time. He didn't even realize he'd spoken at all for a moment, though he closed his jaws and lifted his head before he could speak his thoughts any further. A predator's twisted smile wove itself tightly to his jaw, ears pricking as he deciphered sounds apart from the rushing of the waterfall. He moved closer to the water, tongue stealing some of it's liquid, cooling his systems, as he moved forward until the tips of his paws were submerged.

The water was clear and it seemed to only compliment the moonsilver of his coat. Was that strange? He really doesn't know, but then again suc a trivial thing really doesn't bother him too much. He looked down at his reflection as if searching, as if silently daring for something to be aout of place, and when his silvered coat offers no imperfections he lifts his head. There had been nothing taking away the shine from his silver besides that ever familiar intermixation of black here and there, and the fox-like russet of his chest as if his heart had bled right out of his body. Maybe somewhere along the line it had, after all you never know what is and is not possible. Do you know? Does anyone?