The door to his room was hurled open and Celum barreled through. He hesitated upon noticing the blood but his concerned expression never wavered. In two big steps, he crossed the room, slowing as he neared Eiron. Two hands reached out, hovered in the air, and were placed on Eiron's shoulders.

"Are ye alright son?"

Rapid, shaky breaths were the only response. With a deceptive gentleness, Celum sat on the bed, lifted the abhorrent arm, and tilted it towards the faint moonlight. Blood still flowed from the wound. It glimmered with the twice-reflected light.

"Nasty one, that. It'll be alright. Just have to wrap it."

Veska appeared in the doorway, visibly annoyed. Taking stock of the situation, the irritation faded away and she disappeared back into the darkness.

"Tell me what 'appened."

"I...it...it just appeared. It hurts."

"I know, just wait a bit longer...ah, there she be."

A cloth was passed from Veska to Celum and he firmly wrapped it around the cut. Eiron drew in a sharp breath as the rough material slid across his torn skin. 'That's one of the Sulcar drying cloths' Funny, the things you noticed.

"What did you do, Eiron?"

"Give em a moment. He tol' me it appeared."

"Appeared? Must have been a nightmare or some such. Likely his arm caught on his bedframe. I've asked you twenty times to replace that old board."

"Wasn't a nightmare. I watched it appear while I was by the window."

"Preposterous. You dreamed you were at the window then. Then you decided to shout and wake half the town."

The throbbing fire in his arm hurt less than the words. But was it a dream? It had felt so real...but what other explanation was there? His thoughts tripped over one another sending him careening down a spiral. That steady, firm pressure, on his arm, grounded him in reality. Besides, this pain couldn't be imagined.

"Looks like the bledin' has slowed. Here, put your other hand 'ere here an’ hold this tight."

Woodenly, Eiron complied. His eyes had yet to leave that arm. Had he even blinked? He could still picture it, clear as day, underneath the cloth. That straight line and menacing curve. A shudder rolled through him.

"That's it. It weren't too deep so just hold for a bit 'till the bledin' stops. We'll wrap it up come morning."

Celum pat him on the back and stood with a groan. "This back be getting old." He walked to the door, slower this time, and paused in the doorframe. He pulled the door closed with a reassuring smile that vanished as the thick door swung shut. The soft thud and creaking floorboards were quickly replaced by an oppressive silence.

Eiron sat there. He did listen to his father’s advice, keeping pressure on the cut. After a while, the bleeding stopped and the ruined cloth was removed. Still, he sat there. Thoughts moved like mud, clogging his mind while also blurring together. He let them be and just stared into the darkness. That moment of witnessing the tear slice down his arm replayed over and over....and over. Sometimes with less intensity, others, as if it was actually happening again.

Day came and he stood instead.

Weeds were plucked, he left his bedroom. Lunch, a soup he didn't taste. Morning light shining through his window, a sip of water. One interaction pierced the haze. Somewhere, sometime, Oren was beside him.

"Are you okay? That looks pretty bad."

Eiron recoiled, hiding his arm. His heart ached to share, but had it been real? He had to tell someone. Had to risk embarrassment and hope somebody would listen. It would certainly help clear his mind. Maybe then he could move past, whatever this was, and return to normal. Pulse pounding, he opened his mouth and took the leap.

"It was just a nightmare."

"A nightmare?"

"Yeah, I...scratched it on something."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Oren paused, looked away scuffing the dirt, and forged on. "I heard you...last night. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright."

"Thanks. It was a- like I said."

Did it count for anything? Trying to let it out, to trust? Did the sun always move that fast? Walking to the fields, entering his home. Rows of Sulcar, and then, night had returned. He didn't watch its approach this time through the window, it would be spitting in the face of fate. Laying atop his bed, which had been pushed to the other side of the room, he failed at sleeping. Every single time his eyes closed, he'd see it again. Details were blurry, some still shockingly clear. But the clinching of his heart, the revulsion, the anguish...it never faded.

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Exhaustion finally took him. Not to sleep, for that would be a gross misuse of the word, but to a semblance of rest. Physical rest, certainly not a mental one. Nightmares struck from the shadows. More cuts formed, or were they imagined? He didn't know, didn't care. There was nothing he could do. No escape, no peace. Three hours passed by, it could have been a week.

Restless, frustrated, worn, he rose. In the movement, his right arm brushed his side, the familiar sting causing a wince. There was a slight benefit, his thoughts fled before the pain. Eiron had a moment of self-awareness and the grim implication scared him. Shaking his head, he grabbed the door handle, with his left hand, and cautiously turned it.

For once, he was thankful for his weekly chores. The oiled latch and hinges moved silently. So did the floorboards. You only had to know which ones to avoid. There was that long one just across the threshold, the curved corner two steps beyond, and the last one by the stairs. Of course, the stairs had their own pattern. The first, third, fourth, and seventh steps were all skipped as he moved through the house like a wraith.

There was no avoiding the squeak of the front door. He just hoped it was quiet enough, or did it even matter? He was too tired to decide. Outside, he allowed himself a few louder breaths. The night air welcomed him in a way only a summer night can. It carried a clarity, a rejuvenation, a life to it. Eiron greedily drank it in.

Imposing shadows from the many houses extended out, invading the empty streets. Well, empty if you didn't count Eiron. He boldly walked down the center, reposing in the present. He pictured the people, doubtless sleeping, inside each home. It was strange to know a few hundred lives were mere feet away. The village had its drowsy moments, but there was always at least one person in sight. Okay, so there was one.

He grinned at his joke, or attempt at a joke. Whatever, the moment was gone now. It also struck him as odd. That was the first smile he could remember since it happened. Something about the night, the isolation, it was freeing. He tilted his head up and inspected the stars as he walked. He'd tried counting them once, but it was an impossible task. Looking directly at them never worked, they just disappeared. Looking to the side did make them brighter, but it was so easy to lose your place. Maybe there was beauty in that. Would they lose meaning, value, if you knew how many there were? Knew their names? Who could say? He just followed his feet.

To his chagrin, they led him along that all too familiar route. Out through the houses, along the river, straight to his field. He averted his eyes from the Sulcar, he could picture their every intricacy whenever he wished, which was never. The river called to him instead. Although it was too early for most of the dew to form, there was still some moisture on the grass, sparkling. It dampened his bare feet as he trampled to the riverbank. The pleasant sensation of packed mud along the bank squishing between his toes was a welcome contrast.

He halted on the edge of the water and stared into its depths. It rushed and churned with startling alacrity. A thin line of foam, created by all the turmoil, spilled up on his feet with the shifting ripples. He resonated deeply with the chaos. Despite the conflict, the complex dance, there was still a current carrying everything downstream. Watching the moving tapestry for an indeterminate amount of time, a new thought finally bubbled up to the surface.

Could he resonate with the water on a deeper level? The Elder had said, 'refrain from practicing without direct supervision.' On the other hand, the water from a few days ago hadn't harmed him. At least, he didn't think it had. Slipping his left hand into the water, he lifted it and watched the tiny streams run through his fingers, joining back with itself. It was cold. It seemed obvious, but his mind latched on to any fresh sensation. Anything to distract from the ache in his arm.

Wading out, he felt the current pull gently at his legs. The coldness was a shock to his system, even though he'd expected it. Breathing rapidly, he relaxed and tried to speed the acclimation process along. It still took a few minutes, but the discomfort eventually faded. Lowering himself into the water, he sat with crossed legs on the riverbed, leaving just his head above the surface. The water bit at his scabbed arm with a vengeance. It took another period of adjusting to the temperature and pain before he felt truly at ease.

With his weight displaced by the water, he was practically floating. Heart beating in his ears, he felt for the Essence. Again, the magnitude stuck him. The water flowed by, but that deeper part was rushing faster. It buffeted him with a weighty force. An overwhelming pressure on his entire being. Eiron attempted to imagine it passing through him instead of diverging upon contact. The force doubled. For a terrifying moment, he was convinced the river would sweep him away. He strained against the current as he slid a few feet and bounced along the bottom.

He maintained the mental concept of it passing through him, but with a slight variation. Picturing a tiny portion of the essence remaining behind while the rest surged by, he was shocked by the result. It worked! The feeling of floating faded, it was as if he was part of the river.

Oblivious to all else, Eiron focused solely on the internal sensations. He was drowning from within, but he wasn't. It only felt like his lungs and veins were full of water. He let the feeling slowly build as he drew in more essence. It slowly accumulated as he soaked in the water. Bit by bit, it continued to increase until some limit was reached. It was as if his very soul was full to the brim. Caution long behind him, Eiron tried pulling in even more.

Strangely, there was no breaking point. That limit seemed to be fixed and no amount of effort changed its obstruction. The water essence coursed through his body, mirroring the rising of emotions. With a silent cry, he let it all out. Pushing as he had down before, all the essence he had gathered fled in an instant. Left behind was a sense of being drained, an emptiness deep inside. Physically, even mentally, he felt fine. Possibly even better than before he'd begun this experiment. But on that deeper layer, the root of his being, that portion of himself was withered and sore.

Eiron repeated the process. Drawing in slowly, rapid release. Over and over until the threefold exhaustion reached a breaking point. He crawled up the riverbank, shaking even from that slight effort. Stumbling back along the fields, he tripped on a loose rock and collapsed to the ground. Sleep pulled at him but he withstood, rose back up, and staggered back home.

At the door, through some miracle, he pulled together enough energy to slip in quietly. Creaking boards and treads were avoided, and at last, his bed. He leaned over it and crumpled into its welcome embrace.

Two hours later, the sun had risen yet again. Though the light struck his closed eyes, he did not stir. One arm lay exposed to that light, the tan skin unblemished and whole, but the boy was not.