The dim light filtering through the forest leaves dapples his small, prone body. The sound of stepping on fallen leaves over the damp, dark brown earth, the distant calls of birds, the faint sound of someone's breathing and his own... all of it feels far away to Luca now, and none of it matters anymore. His once-fluffy raccoon ears and tail hang limp, and his young face is slack and stiff with hunger and exhaustion. From the path he followed to where he lies now, there is no left arm where one should be—likely caught in an unseasonable trap—and blood dripping from the torn wound traces a dotted trail, telling the painful story of where his arm used to be. His dull, vacant eyes are fixed on you before him, but their color holds no readable emotion, only a mixture of wariness and resignation.