Even before his eyes opened Sparrow’s head was throbbing. A dusty feeling coated his whole body.

He tried to sit up but the hangover dragged his head back onto the earth. Healing? Sparrow thought and tested a whisp of glowing blue light.

Pain shot through his skull - clearly this wasn’t pain that could be dealt with through that type of cultivation.

Alright. Let’s take this slow…

He inched his way onto this side, trying not to cough at cloud of dust that coated his throat. He waited a moment, checking to see if the hangover had noticed he’d moved yet.

There was a culture in a dead tree next to him. It plopped to the ground and bounced towards Sparrow, titling those beady stone-dead eyes to stare at him.

Sparrow bravely lifted his head an inch, then another, ‘Hey… I’m alright!’

But he’d spoken too soon. The hangover, which had been sitting watching him, leapt to its feet and started bashing the inside of Sparrow’s head with a gong.

Sparrow laid his head down, but it was no use, the hangover had found it’s rhythm. It threw apples at his eyeballs, wheat-paste at his mouth, and razorblades down his throat.

Sparrow lay back, defeated. He wanted to die but was worried the throbbing headache would continue with him into the afterlife.

Hours passed. The vulture brought some of its mates around and they took turns pecking at Sparrow’s feet.

Every time he moaned or yelled at them they’d flap a few metres backwards, wait for him to settle, then approach again and have another taste.

The sun traced a slow arc across the sky, burning Sparrow’s already tanned skin.

All through the day, he wondered where his friends were, why they hadn’t come looking for him? And where were they the night before?

As night began to fall Sparrow climbed to his feet.

Everything hurt, and there were patches of blood on his knees from where the vultures had pecked through his skin.

He stumbled over to a stagnant pond, full of scummy water and dunked his face into it. The pounding was beginning to disappear and had been replaced by a crisp burning sensation.

After hours of shuffling through scrub, he reached the edge of the musician’s camp.

He’d been able to locate it through sound. Like a bat. Music from the camp echoed out onto the surrounding landscape.

He tightened his belt a notch as he walked through the camp. He couldn’t recognise any faces from the night before but they had to be there - the people who’d kicked him when he was down, who’d kept feeding him alcohol.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

There didn’t seem to be a drop of water in the place, instead, he was forced to down half a flagon of bitter wine to quench his thirst.

By the time the night sky had been cleared of sunset, he’d roamed the entire camp. There was no Zan - and most importantly, no Zoe.

He flew into the air, a few metres above the camp, cupped his hands to his mouth and called, ‘Zoe! Zan! We’ve got to get out of this place!’

A guy below him dropped the barrel he’d been balancing on his head, and musicians turned their heads, gazing up at the sky, trying to spot where the noise was coming from.

‘Zoe!’ Sparrow shouted, ‘Please, please we have to go.’

But there was no reply.

Sparrow floated down to the ground. He stumbled as he hit it. There was someone playing a sad song on a nearby lute.

He licked his lips. They were still burning. He thought about swallowing another mouthful of wine. But the acidic feeling in his gut told him that was a bad idea.

Domino was approaching. He peered up towards the sky and called, ‘Sparrow? You back for more kid?’

Sparrow felt a sinking in his gut. He turned and soared away from the drummer. The wine was affecting his sense of direction. His flightpath wobbled and he crashed to the ground right outside of a canvas tent.

He heard footsteps coming his way and turned in panic, stumbling into the tent.

The place was lit by candles and a glowing internal fire. In one corner stood Zan, his arms were wrapped around a woman, and her hair trailed over his arms as she kissed him.

Sparrow opened his mouth to call out to his friend but then paused for a moment. Zan’s gonna be annoyed at you for this… Maybe you should wait?

A shout came from outside the tent, it was Domino, calling for Sparrow over and over, shouting, cursing him.

Sparrow thumbed his belt, and opened it a notch, turning fully visible.

‘Zan, I’m sorry,’ Sparrow called, ‘but we’ve got to get out of here. Have you seen-’

Zan’s eyes flickered open, and a look of blind fury crossed his face, he stepped away from the woman and began to shout.

But Sparrow didn’t hear what he said. He didn’t hear Domino push through into the tent. He didn’t even hear the three-piece folk band that had started up a rendition of ‘Liwei Leatherfoot’ two tents away.

All he saw was the woman who’d tried to hide her face from him. But those eyes and lips were unmistakable. Sparrow wondered how he could’ve been so stupid.

Cowering behind Zan was Zoe.

Domino grabbed Sparrow and wrenched his shoulder back, ‘Come on little man. It’s bad manners to interrupt a couple when they’re at it.’

Sparrow gave the man a single glance, rolled stoneskin over his body and said, ‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t burn the skin from your face.’

Domino’s eyes widened, he balled up his fist and hit Sparrow square on the chin. The drummer’s fist shattered and a pitched scream erupted from Domino’s throat.

Sparrow turned back to Zan and Zoe.

Zoe was looking at him now, tears crowded her eyes, ‘Sparrow,’ she said, hands raised like he was a demented troll ‘We can talk about this… don’t… don’t do anything stupid.’

Sparrow swallowed. All the pain he’d experienced was gone. As though someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and taken all his sense of feeling with it.

‘I-I really wanted to see the beach with you…’ his jaw trembled, this is what you get for getting attached. He thought, this is what you get for staying in one place, you belong on the road boy. People are only going to hurt you. People are…

‘I love you.’ Sparrow said, to laughs from Zan and tears from Zoe, she tried to speak but her words all mixed into each other.

Sparrow stepped backwards out of the tent, ‘I hope your happiness is worth it.’

And with that he walked through the camp, through the town, and stared out at the night beyond. He took three deep breaths, pointed his feet to the east, and just started walking.