It was kind of like before, he thought. Before. The long years of being alone, waking alone, sleeping alone, running all alone with only the round moon for company. It was hard, then, because of the hate, the feelings of anger and utter, utter betrayal. The hate that covered the fierce love he had for the man.
And now, he was running alone again. No emotions to hide behind. Just love and pain and nothing but running, running with the moon without the moon running from the emptiness, looking straight ahead, focussing on nothing, concentrating on nothing but not looking at the space beside him that was not filled with Sirius.
No, he decided. It was nothing like before.
Nothing at all.