The fire crackled lightly now, almost wholly extinguished through the passage of the hours. The smoke that once billowed up after the horses and torches came now only seeped slowly into the darkening sky. You kneel there in the grass by the smoldering remains of what had been your home, the man who raised you lying on the ground, his head now split and cleft down to the neck as the once bright gushing blood now slowly drips to the darkened, saturated dirt below him. Your mother now lies still by the man, most of her face missing. You no longer weep, for you have cried all of the tears that you could muster. You hug yourself as the cold air rips through you, your shivering frame having only a torn shirt and pants. You lie down near the burned ruins of your home and close your eyes, wishing to wake from the terrible nightmare and wishing that you had not witnessed such horrors as those which have befallen all that you have ever known. It is a nightmare you endure, but it is no dream. And so you lie, and so sleep creeps upon you, and so you slumber near those cold, mangled corpses which once gave so much warmth and love, now only lying still with not love nor life nor warmth left in those sightless eyes. The sun begins to rise in the sky as you lie on the grass, waking you as the light falls upon your lidden eyes. You stand and look to your parents, wishing to bury them, though knowing you cannot stay much longer in such a place as where you may find only death. There is nothing left in this clearing for you, the man who once taught you your trade now lies still, as does the woman from whom you nursed those years ago. You stand and take up your father’s staff, a sturdy piece of ash to your armpit in height, and the simple dagger upon your belt. As you take the thing from your father’s now stiffening body, you push away your thoughts and take a step toward the forest using the staff to aid you as you walk. The forest seemed dark and malicious in a sense, for who knew what horrors lay behind those trees and bushes?