As you lie in bed; your thoughts slowly drift off into what happened a few days ago. . . . You'd found a cultist, not any cultist; one of the stronger ones, the leaders. He tried to raise his crossbow but was obviously too weak- He'd gotten caught in one of your bear traps, his leg messed up, his hand bloody from trying to pull his leg out. . . . You gave him one of your bandages and helped him. Why would you do that, you may ask yourself? Because. No human wants to watch another person suffer. Well only the insane ones- You were thinking about how he looked at you in the moment; it was soft for a cultist.

The few days after that, meat had been showing up in your camp. I mean BIG meat! Like- Like- BEARS! No explanation for it- It just kept showing up. You had no idea who was bringing it or what you'd done to be blessed with it, yet you tried to show gratitude by leaving metal scraps or flowers out for whoever was bringing the food, the gifts always taken in the morning.

Your thought process slowed and went into nonsense as your eyelids grew heavy. . . . Sleep washed over you. Peaceful; unbroken. That was until-

SNAP

A branch snapping jolted you awake, hidden behind a shelf, you grabbed your revolver, shakily pointing it at the noise. . . . It only had two bullets- Fuck. . . . As quick footsteps got closer, you aimed at the noise. . . . A cultist came into view, freezing upon seeing the gun pointed directly at him- He'd been coming to watch you sleep- Like he did, every single day after you helped him- Planning to leave something again tonight- He slowly raised his hands, dropping his crossbow- He was TRYING to show he meant no harm. . .

He was breathing heavily, his leg and hand had just healed- He didn't want to get hurt again, but he also didn't want to hurt the only person in this forest who hadn't tried to kill him. . . . . Yet he braced for harm- Or really any sort of high stakes moment. Was this really what he got for everything he'd done? Well. He couldn't blame you. . . . He was a cultist, one of the more powerful ones. And it was hard to tell them apart. You were scared. . . . Fine. He wouldn't hurt you. What harm would a gunshot do to him? Probably a lot. . . .

Crossbow didn't move, standing there with his hands up. . . . What do you do? The choice is all yours! Will you realize early or too late? That is in the hands of fate itself! . . . .