There the sack sat, barely visible in the darkness. Eiron stared at the tangible proof that those words had been spoken. He didn't want to believe it. They still didn't sound coherent as they echoed through his mind. The room was spinning around that leather bag, he felt sick. How he hoped this was only a dream, a nightmare that would soon be over. He knew it wasn't. That fact made him wish it were a fantasy all the more.

There was so much pressure, he could feel it with each pump of his heart. Building up, running through his arms and spine. He looked at that brown lump on the floor, did it look back? Shadows played with his sight, dancing in to strike and disappearing just as quickly. Did the door just move? He flinched...at nothing. He knew it was nothing, but he couldn't admit that, even to himself.

Rage within, twisted around betrayal and fear. They formed a poisonous concoction that he knew would burn all that it touched. Eiron drank it down, greedily. It did provide energy along with the burning. It urged him to action. To smash apart every valuable in sight, to hurl himself out the window, to convince someone to listen. To do anything at all, really. He stood up...it really did feel like a dream. But the pain was too real, there was no possibility he could imagine this level of hurt.

His hand reached down, the strap was made of thorns, he picked it up and slung the sack around his shoulder. His feet crossed the room, the door had been left ajar. A hand, his hand, reached out and pushed against it. Why were those fingers blurring? Was the door shaking? The threshold was crossed. Creaking floorboards were not avoided. He stood outside.

There was no clarity to be found. No hidden beauty to be noticed or calm atmosphere to be absorbed. The night was ghastly. Colors had long since fled, all the sounds had convened and traded places in a cruel prank. The air itself felt thick, oppressive. It wormed its way into his lungs, it was no use trying to hold it back. He took a step forward.

Why was he out here? Tomorrow was harvest, he needed to rest. He turned around, facing the house. It lunged at him. An abomination of memories, all meshed together into a disgusting mass, fell upon him. The Elder was telling him about giving him some coin from the harvest of essence. His father explained how the whole field was ruined. Coras was being mauled by an Arcleum. His mother...he shuddered...dropped to his knees. That one was clear.

He relived it in detail, every feeling, every thought. It was as if he was there, sitting in his bed. It happened again. And again. Again. There was no eluding its hold. He was standing, facing the street. He took a step. The stone underfoot pushed against him. It wobbled, twisted, and bent...he didn't fall. He took another. Faster and faster, one foot in front of the other. Familiar sights thrummed a chord in his aching heart. Simple things. A fencepost at a corner, leaning at an awkward angle. The curve of the road around a low house. A rounded chimney. They called to him, he didn't stop. It felt like they ripped pieces from his body as he left them behind.

His breath became heavier, he didn't slow. The two moons high overhead were almost perfectly aligned now. Had it been an omen? The arc of light reflecting around one edge of the near moon was the only source of light. It illuminated far less than was desired. Only a few steps ahead could be seen within the blackness. Strange shapes of buildings and trees were only recognizable as even darker voids. They blocked out the stars and obscured the moons. They were as stains upon perfect fabric.

Some thoughts flowed clearer. He didn't know why, or care to find out. Though, it was strange how normal it felt to run across the bridge. The familiar planks bounced beneath his weight, the ever-rushing river, unseen below. During such moments of clarity, another thought would break through. He wanted to go back. It would be so simple. He could explain that it was all a trick, something he had done himself. He could work twice as hard, tend to four separate fields, even eight. Anything to see a smile on those two faces, a warm embrace.

Equally as often, that expression of disdain reflected on the inside of his eyes. It also tore a piece from him, every time he remembered. Those pieces contained more of himself than basic nostalgia. He could picture every chunk, littering the path behind him. No, there was never any going back.

Another one fell.

He was beyond the bridge, he turned and followed the path. Empty patches of ground, he knew all too well what they looked like. In the darkness, it was just empty. He ran. The dirt was softer here, less packed. Each step sunk and sprung back out. The rhythm took him...for a moment. He held onto it for as long as he could. All too soon, patches of grass crowded out the soft earth. Less traveled this far out, the path wavered, then disappeared. It was all grass now.

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The long blades stabbed at his bare shins. Not sharp enough to break the skin, they still tried. Injury was beyond them, discomfort and annoyance were well within reach. Eiron welcomed them all. It was fitting how closely they matched his heart. Bushes soon replaced them, their stiff branches succeeding where the grass had failed. He welcomed them too. They whipped him as he ran by, punishing him for his failures. Eyes down to make out each step, he didn't avoid them. In fact, he veered towards larger patches when they emerged from the shadows.

The strap on his shoulder also hurt. It dug into the muscle, down to the bone. Switching it to the other one would help, his left side could recover for a bit. He couldn't bring himself to care enough. A rough trunk jumped out of the darkness. He planted a foot and twisted around it. His right arm still clipped the side, the rough bark left its mark. Another one came into view, he was far enough away. More and more frequently they appeared. The edge of the forest.

For the first time since stepping onto the street, he came to a stop. He staggered, the world wasn't moving properly. Leaning against the nearest tree, he let the ragged breaths tear out through his throat. Looking back, he could see nothing. A possible reflection sparkled in a few spots, or it could have been the strain in his eyes. Either way, he had come far. In fact, this was farther from his village than he had ever been. The void shapes couldn't be seen from this distance, but Eiron could picture it all the same. The houses, fields, paths, and people. They were there, only he was different.

He took a step, not deeper into the forest, but back toward home. Three more. Suddenly, he had no strength. He was frozen in place. For several minutes he stared at...nothing. Hoping, longing, it was not to be. He was not welcome, not wanted. He felt rain on his face. Why only his face? He wiped it away but more came. Why? Was it even worth asking the question? There was no answer. There never would be.

It would have been better if the Arcleum had dragged him back into the river it crawled from. Or that the current had swept him away on any of those secretive nights. At least then, someone would have mourned for him. Would anyone even notice he was gone? There, where only tree and plant bore witness, he wept. He cried for himself, his family, the hardships they would go through for a year. For all the friendly faces he would never see again. For regret. Most of all, loss. There was nothing he hadn't lost, everything had been taken from him. He could only blame himself, who else was beside him?

Far later, when no more tears would come, he stood again. He set his back to the village. Was it with resolution? A determination to survive regardless of the odds? With revenge or spite? Possibly hoping for a brighter tomorrow? Longing for whatever was over the next ridge? No, none of these. There was nothing, he was empty. He walked between the trees. His mind was blank, drained. He collided with many trunks, he didn't notice. Sitting in a small corner of his mind, he watched as his body moved on its own. There was just one problem. When all else was gone, when emotions had run their course and thoughts had fled into the unknown. One thing remained. It grew slowly, but it was inevitable. It punctured him with barbed hooks and pulled his consciousness out from safety. What was so terrible to acknowledge? What drove people to the end or chased after them in every quiet moment?

It had him now. This, he couldn't run from. His eyes flicked to the murky shapes as he passed by. He shivered. What crouched behind that tree? What made that bush move? It could have been the wind. But there was no wind this deep in the forest. Each time his shoe touched the ground, thunderous crackling. An occasional snap was far louder. Crunching leaves were expected now, but those hidden branches caused him to jump. A rustle from nearby, he stood stock still. Darting in all directions, his eyes reflected no light. Tensed, he listened with all his might. Another crunch, from the opposite side.

A surge of energy, like nothing he had felt this day, shot through him. He bolted. Crashing through the forest, he dodged every obstacle he could make out. It was a dance, or even a trance, but a horrible one. Shadows nipped at his heels, flew before his eyes. Old trees reached down to pin him in. The ground itself gave way or surged up by some unknown pattern. Faster and faster. There was no escape, no destination, he could only run.

His breaths were shorter now, almost matching the beating of his heart. Thoughts were clearer in his panic, but buried under a layer of that which haunts all. If he stopped, opened his airways, and observed the situation, maybe he could hear them. Those ideas were too quiet. They flitted away, mocking his pitiful attempts at catching them.

He ran as if possessed. It was all the same. Trees, rocks, dirt, bushes, shadows. They blurred past. Soon, the ground began to steepen. Though it wore him down even faster, he did not deviate. He could not feel the burning in his legs or the stitch in his side, he was far beyond sensations. He flung aside branches, not feeling their sharp edges rip at his fingers. He surged upwards. Did progress even matter? Was he not going deeper and deeper into the unknown? Maybe there was someplace he could hide...a cave? Could he light a fire? Carry a torch?

None of these broke through to the surface. They were completely and utterly overwhelmed. He called out, a terrified cry. No coherent words or phrases, just noise. He ran just a little bit faster. Deeper breaths were needed now, he let out staccato shouts at the top of his lungs.

Far away, in a quiet village, a few people stirred in their sleep. Their dreams were invaded by a friendly greeting called across the way, a cry for help as a loved one slipped and fell, by a strange bird with a unique warble. None woke. In the distance, traveling further and further into the wilds, a young boy ran for his very life. A life lost, one to be preserved, and maybe...just maybe...one to last through another night.