One day, Ray was wandering through the forest with a backpack full of snacks and treats. The food experts of the world had long since figured out a healthier way to make pie, and he'd air-baked some freshly-cut potatoes in the dorm kitchen. It went down with decaf coffee and vanilla almond milk, from a travel mug. The rumor that 'coffee stunts growth' had been proven to be a myth, and in fact, a benefit. When in past eras, children would be subject to corporate health-tampering due to targeted sugary snacks and sodas, these days held more conscience towards what was allowed on store shelves. Caffeine was, in lower amounts, never actually the problem at all. It was sugar, plain and simple, and the sicknesses that tried to live in their flesh and bones. Scientists had tried to warn them, millennia ago, and yet humanity somehow found itself back in the sand, head-first, every so often. A repetitive cycle of ignorance. If anything, a little decaf in the morning was the perfect wake-up call for a budding young student. Raimundo was already twelve years old, and like most kids, he'd started drinking caffeine-free coffee at the age of ten. Decaf, a bit misnomally, was only a reduced amount. It gave him a bit of pride, as he drank, to know that he was maturing a step up in the world, in this one, small way... but it also bored him that this was what his maturity had come to. Obsession over nutritional details, and micromeasuring amounts of a substance that was ubiquitously measured for them. It was the same as his gym classes, where each step was prescribed before the day had even started – kicking targets allotted for soccer, basket-quotas for basketball, point-degree slapshots in hockey. Unlike the other kids, who scored reasonably well at these things, Raimundo lacked the coordination to meet even a single requirement. There was no other option for him, to be considered 'a good athlete', and this was just as much the case with the rest of his curriculum, in all other subjects. He was not what the world called 'a good student', and that made him furious... primarily at himself. Because of this, he was looked down on by all of the other students, even in those brief glimpses where he'd been noticed by them. Everyone else was starting to hold hands, and smooch cheeks, and go on movie dates. Ray went by himself, or with his sister, Theresa. That was when she bothered to show up, as she was always busy with work – coaching gym class, and quizzing the cadets. They hadn't yet been sent to their first summer camp, but they were already more respected for every stray fiber from their gray and red jackets than Ray would ever be in his life, for all the hair on his head. There was nothing Ray could be good at, and it was impossible to argue: loners who sketch tragedies on their homework have no future in a world that counts on production, servitude, and discipline. It felt like the world had turned him into a loser, who had no choice but to wait to be told when to win.
As he walked along the forest path, he saw a group of people walking towards him. They looked like good friends, laughing and joking around – compared to them, he felt like a miserable, pathetic nobody. Not wanting to risk judgment by their wandering eyes, he ran into the trees, and hid. He was nervous, however, that they might hear him breathing, so he crept deeper into the forest. They passed by, taking no notice of him; he'd hidden carefully. He started for the trail again, but he began to worry that others might travel that same path, and make fun of him for being alone. So he walked deeper and deeper through the trees, looking for the long fence, along which was a straight path back to school.
He walked, and walked, but soon, he'd lost his way. Perhaps he was going in the wrong direction, or in circles? He looked around at the trees above him... none of them looked like any he knew. He looked up for the sun, but it was hidden behind thick clouds. It looked as if the rain might start to pour, and he had no umbrella to protect himself, or his snacks. Lost, and without hope, he began to panic. He dashed this way and that, with surprising speed. O'r the logs, hopping from stump to stump, sliding under fallen trees, he was agile and quick, but nowhere he went was a place that she recognized. If only the school had made a gym category for woodland scurrying, he might have aced those quotas with flying colors. Despite the people's insistence that, once and for all, humanity had become one with nature... they sure seemed comfortable ignoring it, whenever it was convenient. Finally, he happened upon a clearing. A field, in fact, with soccer nets and other kids, laughing and playing. They were having such fun! He didn't want to ruin their fun with his glum troubles. She wanted to ask for directions, but he was afraid. They looked aggressive, the way they kicked their ball around, yelling and pushing each other around. Would they do the same to him? He decided to go back into the forest, unseen, and find his own way home. If anything, they'd just think him stupid, so he thought. So he slipped away, back into the trees, unseen. He decided to follow near the trail that led away from the field, in case it brought him home. That was when he heard it. KRAK! A branch snapped nearby. Had one of the kids followed him? He walked faster, climbing over logs and bushes, and the snapping branches followed behind him. Then it stopped, and he saw it: a beast with white fur, and black eyes. Its ears perked up, and it reared its tail and back, and bolted towards him. He ran as fast as he could, and though his speed was formidable, the beast was faster. Ahead was a fort, made like an open tent of fallen trees, and he ducked into it. Then he pulled a large stump in front of the entrance, and scurried to the middle. It tried to claw at him, but he was just out of reach. He held his breath as it sniffed around. I was then that he realized that he'd lost his backpack, full of sweets! The beast wandered off, and he caught his breath – waiting in silence, in case it decided to return.

Some time later, just as he felt it was safe to leave, the beast came back. It was holding Ray's backpack! As it drew nearer, he could see it was not a beast, but a boy. The boy had white hair indeed, but his eyes were not black – he was wearing sunglasses. He didn't have wolves' ears, as Ray'd thought, but his hair was spiked and swept upwards, like horns. Instead of a tail, it was a white bed sheet, tied around his waist, torn and scrapped. Though the boy wore grey jeans, he had no socks, shoes, or even a shirt... and from his sunken skin that clung to his ribs, he was starving. As he tore through the backpack, Ray decided that he needed the food more. There was something familiar about this wildling boy... in fact, 'familiar' was exactly it: he looked like a member of Ray's family, the Radigans. Even with shades, his face resembled Ray's greatly, and one might even confuse them for twins.
He ripped open the pie boxes, clawed into the berries and crust with his fingers, and gobbled down the sweet, tender mulch. It was disturbing to watch, as snack after dessert disappeared into his bare belly. Then, he spotted something else: a black hoodie, with a skull and crossbones on the front. Ray was still wearing it, but the boy grabbed it anyway.
"Hey!", Ray shouted, "Get off me!"
He looked at Ray, in his sweater, and his hood which had long fallen from his mixed-auburn head of hair. He took off his shades, then took Ray's glasses from his face. The boy's grey eyes met Ray's green. They were clear, somehow. Colorless, only a hint of blue, maybe, with a red glare in the middle. Ray's were a bit odd as well, for what looked green was really blue, hazel, and a deep red, each color inside the next, in rings. Like a rainbow, if you looked hard enough. But it was that deep red in the middle that concerned people, who came too close. Another reason to make sure they never did. The boy let go of Ray's hoodie, but he looked cold. He looked around with Ray's glasses on, bewildered by what he was (or wasn't) seeing. Ray was unlucky enough to have been born with myopia, of which the UC had very few sufferers.
Ray proposed a trade. "I need those glasses to see. How about I give you my hoodie, and you give those back?" Ray lifted his arms, and raised the hoodie over his head to take off. Underneath was still an undershirt.
The boy slipped on the black hoodie, and felt its warmth on his body. He hugged himself tight. This swayed Ray none, for it still belonged to him, and was in fact his absolute favourite hoodie. That was why he carried it around, even when he was already dressed. Just in case.
"You'll have to give that back, eventually," he demanded. "It's not really yours, it's mine."
The boy grunted at Ray, and screeched. His voice was an incomprehensible garble, and it only scared Ray. He returned to the backpack, and found Ray's school identification card. He held it up to compare to him, shrugged, and pocketed the card. He left the backpack and scraps behind, and returned to the darker part of the woods. He was evidently satisfied with his meal, and paid Ray no attention. Ray gathered his courage, and his backpack, and left the fort. What he didn't realize, as he found the trail and returned to his dorm, was that he was being watched... and followed, very closely.