The sweet scent of grass was the first sensation he experienced. He slowly opened his eyes to be blinded by the sun directly above. He shut his eyes in defeat and listened to the sounds of nature around him for a while: the water in the river below his feet rushing past, the wind rustling the blades of grass and densely packed trees.
He had no recollection of where he was. All he knew was that he was exhausted. His legs ached as if someone drove wooden stakes through them and thinking only gave him an enormous headache, so he just sat up and watched the river for a while, waiting for the pain to subside.
But it didn't.
Another scent, this time warm and savory, caught his attention. An incredible hunger suddenly flooded him, giving him the will to stand and walk toward the source of the alluring aroma. He had been lying on a riverbank, and when he stood, he saw in the distance two buildings: a relatively large cottage and a barn.
He followed the scent, trying to ignore the burning pain in his shins and the void in his stomach. He was around twelve years old, skinny from malnutrition, yet still tall enough to be called lanky. Relatively short and matted black hair rested on his head; he had the most crimson shade of red for eyes. And he was incredibly pale.
The smell came from the cottage, which was expelling light steam from its chimney. Eventually, he made it to the cottage and knocked on the crusty wooden door. A young-looking woman in her late twenties opened the door. She had long brown curtains dropping down to her shoulders and matching droopy black eyes.
"...Hungry," He finally spoke before passing out and falling into the woman's arms. A group of young children, ranging from five years old to sixteen years old, followed her as she bought him into the cottage and lay him on a bed.
"He's so pale," The youngest girl poked at his blank skin. "Like a ghost," Another one added.
"Jurie, is there any soup leftover?" The woman asked a fifteen-year-old girl - straight blonde hair with blue eyes.
"Yes, should I get some for him?" The girl asked in a gentle, innocent voice.
"Yes please, he's-" the woman was interrupted by a great growl from the pale boy's stomach, "really hungry."
He woke up to the sound of voices - mostly young children - discussing what his name should be.
"He's probably already got a name," The eldest boy said - tall, skinny yet muscular, black hair and black eyes.
"But Paley's a great name!" one of the younger boys said.
"That's a crap name, mine's better," another girl added.
"Ghost Boy is even worse!" The boy retorted.
"Paley's the better name," Jurie concluded.
"Wait, he's awake!" They gathered around him as he slowly gained awareness yet again.
"Where am I?" He asked listlessly.
"You're in the best orphanage in the country." The woman came down the flight of stairs he lay under, carrying a large box of seasonal spring fruit.
"Mom! What do you think is better? Paley or Ghost Boy?" The boy from earlier rushed to her.
"Obviously Paley." The mother replied, "It has a nice ring to it."
The boy gave the girl a victorious look, and she gave him a frustrated pout in return. The mother set the box down on an old dusty table and gently pushed everyone aside to talk to the boy on the bed.
"What's your name?" She asked. It should've been an easy question, but he had no answer.
"I don't know," he replied.
"Then Paley it is."