I look to my defeated prey, and then around me. It's already but-now-even-more-so dead eyes locked onto mine judgingly, as if saying,

'You went and took my life, and you didn't even have a way to cook and eat me?'

"Don't... look at me like that."

Oh lord, I'm talking to fish and its not even alive. Powers above, this humble servant asks for mental fortitude and tolerance!

"Metatron! You claim you watch over me, yet I believe that all you have done so far is laugh at my misfortunes!" I yell in righteous indignance.

Okay! Calm down, this is clearly not normal. I need to sit down and shut up before I offend anymore angels. Lord knows I cannot afford it.

And so I sit, on my lonesome, completely bare... holding an impaled fish on a stick, blood staining its shaft and soaking my arm.

"It's cold."

Alone. Maybe, insanity was a better choice for my mental health. This is just sad, how can I exact righteous revenge on anyone like this.

I'm sad. I'm angry, I need to find that sick individual. To do so, this is nothing.

I have to keep reminding myself before I lose it.

But... it really is cold.

I look past the sea of trees and into the deep orange hue of the setting sun.

"..."

I need to get to work.

And so, I set a wide and flat stone from the river and lay my food onto it, making sure to position the stone diagonally so that it would drain the blood, before covering it with leaves to hide it from any birds or critters. Better than nothing, really. With my now free hand, I gather up twigs and dried leaves.

"Time to do it the old-fashioned way."

Minutes upon minutes, the seconds went by like the frantic spinning of sticks. I tried many ways with different methods, each time failing and learning. Each time that stick spin out of control, I felt I got more comfortable... I was finding a rhythm, but it was like a sick joke!

"Something... something! Please!"

And as if something, or someone, had heard my plea, I was finally blessed with faint wisps of smoke dancing weakly in front of my eyes.

With renewed vigor, I desperately spun that stick with all I had. Until finally, my efforts bore fruit.

A small ember, a weak little flame. Yet for me, a lifeline. I grabbed onto that lifeline with all my might, like I had done many times before. I covered it from the evening breeze, and I fed it dried plant fibers and twigs dutifully.

"Ah! Eureka! Wahaha!"

My efforts were rewarded. Now I didn't have to sleep cold, and neither do I have to starve either. I didn't plan for it to be this way, I was just hungry and now I had gotten so much more.

Now, the night didn't seem so lonely.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

I took a small pause to catch my breath and calm myself before getting to work on my food. I tried my best to scale it, and honestly eviscerating it was much easier. now that it was prepared I only needed to cook it.

I decorate my prize with a skewer and hold it over the now blazing campfire.

"Thank you..." I whisper as I get ready to eat.

It was a bit short for grace, but I felt it encapsulated all of my feelings perfectly.

- - - - -

"Chirp! Chirp! Rustle! Swish!"

A bird sings its hopes for the new dawn, before being scared away by the rustling of a waking child.

The small and feeble child gets up groggily, from his small hidey-hole. It seemed he had fashioned a primitive lean-toward made of discarded branches, and a little bit of everything he could find.

The morning sun greets Asphodel with its soft beams, reflecting serenely within the rushing waters and the waking leaves. By now, the small campfire had bid its goodbyes, fading away as it burned through the night, leaving naught but ash.

It seemed like a message, he would find no solace here, as no fire had survived and no warmth will remain to comfort him when the cold night came.

With a yawn, the youth looks around gloomily as he splashes himself with cold river water and picks up his sharpened spear with dainty hands.

Truly, nature was not kind. Even in an unfamiliar world, mortal struggle remains the same in its laws.

Looking at the discarded fish bones by the expired campfire, the boy thought so as well.

And with a strong step, the revitalized youth trudges forward, unwillingly but left without choice, for he had no intentions to settle here.

Hours pass, and he was still walking, he was still hoping.

What a fool he was, for he knew the vastness of the world, he knew the mysteries that lay ahead. Pain and suffering was practically begging him, inviting him to come and bite the apple, so to say.

Even from afar, one could see his worn hands, littered with splinters and callouses trembling in vigilance. His feet, bare as there were, bore scratches and gashes from the sharp and prickly gravel and shrubs he was dragging his feet through. Sweat dripped from his brow as the midday sun beat down on him.

Yet he walked, sure he was chosen by the ones above for a reason?

Time could only tell.

- - - - -

"Father Brook! Father Brook!" An urgent voice called out to me as I had just finished sorting my things to visit the infirmary.

That was probably the newest deacon, little Alcott. Vibrant little one, he is, a little stiff but a good heart he has.

I have to say, working as a priest in this small town might not be as grand as my ambitions were in my younger days, but even now in this sizable town of Wyrmden...

It's a lot of work, and now I know for sure I wasn't built for the grand life in the first place.

Perfectly content, here, in this backwater town. It's not Avalon, that's for sure, all those years ago I would have never even entertained the idea of leaving the esteemed capital of the drakes.

"What is it?" I yell as I continue packing.

Granted, it's only a short walk to the infirmary, but I've learned long ago to never be caught unprepared. You never know what can ha-

"Father Brook!" Alcott manages to snap me out of my rambling. It seemed he had burst into the room as I was busily grumbling to myself.

"Calm down Alcott, I hear ya'!"

"Ah right, it's just that its real urgent!"

"Was there an emergency? If so, let me just-" I mean, something has to be wrong for the usually collected kid to be so restless.

"Nothing like that! But it's just as important! A dove!" Alcott chattered as he reached into his satchel.

"Dove! Do you mean-"

"A messenger dove Father Brook! From Avalon! It even has the seal of the Archbishop and everything!" Alcott practically shoves the slip of paper onto my hand in excitement.

"From Avalon? I didn't think there were any big news lately, nor events... Let's see here.."

Now I understand why Alcott had been so jumpy, a boy raised in a rural town like this could only dream to even live in the capital of Wardenlocke, much less hold a letter from the Archbishop of Wardenlocke himse-

"Oh dear..." My stomach drops.

"What is it Father? Something... bad?" Alcott's fuse had instantly died out, and his expression was marred in worry.

"Nothing... nothing really. It's not as bad as you think, Alcott." I reassure him with barely-concealed worry.

"But-"

"-Thank you Alcott, for delivering this to me. You best get on your way now."

"Of course, Father Brook..." Smart boy, bless him.

"Remember to attend the prayer service later." I call out one last time as I slowly finish packing my own satchel.

"Yes Father, good day."

"You as well, Alcott."

The door closes, as I am set free to stew in worry and anticipation. After all, I had just been informed that a very important and very dangerous person was headed to my very own town.

An Inquisitor was going to be visiting, and I don't know why.