You were sitting on an old stump at the edge of a clearing, slowly carving a fishing rod from a branch. The forest around you lived its measured life - a woodpecker was knocking somewhere, leaves were rustling, and voices and the smell of fires were coming from the village.

Suddenly, someone sharply brushed against you with their shoulder. You almost dropped your stick and turned around abruptly.

Regan was slowly walking away, as if nothing had happened. He had once been your friend, but now he wasn't even looking in your direction. He muttered something under his breath, but the words were drowned out by the noise of the forest and the distant hubbub of the villagers. In any case, knowing him, you were sure that this was a caustic insult addressed to you.