He awoke in a tangled, decrepit wood.

He was momentarily perplexed of in what he was doing as if deep in a dream and reality had not set in yet.

He approached his home, a small round structure which appeared to be ruins of a structure indistinguishable and irremovable from the forest itself. He went into the small stone structure and scanned inside.

Amongst the rubble were scraps of cloth which appeared to be a place where one could sleep, in the middle of the room were marks of a makeshift fire beside a pile of stones which have been worn down in unsuccessful attempts to strike flame.

He rummaged through the area in vain attempt to scrounge something up. The thick grove only covered a small area, and the trees connected almost covering the canopy entirely, and streaks of sunlight barely peaked through. He finally remembered what he was doing before he fell asleep as he felt the rumbling of his stomach, he was waiting for any creature to come up to the grove from the outside as no living creature beside himself resided within.

He went back to where he napped, a rock where he sat upon awaiting any noise that came from the outside. He sat waited for any sound, a "tool" in hand.

He recalled the times he caught birds or rabbits and cooked them over a flame, and wondered if the effort of lighting a fire would be worth it this time. He was in the middle of thought when he heard a noise outside and held his now weapon high, he slowly walked out of the trees. His gaze met a steel point part of a short iron rod. It was a spear, he recognized.

“Hmm...?” the figure wondered. They both lowered their guards. The man outside was wearing a dark cloak that had almost covered his entire body although his iron gauntlets and leggings shone dully and were barely visible in the sunset light. He was somewhat young but looked aged and weary. He looked like he had not slept for days.

The man dropped the spear revealing it to be dangling from a row of chains within his cloak. The metal spike stopped short from the ground as he held onto the chains.

The younger man was unkempt and covered in soil. Earth covered his hands and caked his hair. He appeared to be tired, drained of vigor and color. His skin was pale, though it was more due to the current situation than his usual skin tone. His hair and eyes were the lightest shade of brown. The color was akin to a piece of brown fabric that had been bleached or had faded over time. If he had fallen into a pile of dull colored autumn leaves, he would blend in with their shade.

Clad in black cloak and armor, the older man would stick out like a sore thumb in daylight; a figure that one would see from a distance and fear as it approached them. But at night, an unseen shadow that could move without detection.

He was unusually pale, though this time it was the natural hue of his skin. His armor was painted black, and had clear signs of wear and tear and charring. Wisps of gray hair were faintly seen though his face was almost entirely obscured by his cloak.

Faint dark bags formed under the young man's eyes, though they were tame compared to those of the armored one before him. The man in armor was only a few years older than him, but appeared to be wizened and aged by combat and a rigorous way of living. He had an imposing stature, broad shoulders and he loomed over the young man.

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The young man’s dark brown hair got in front of his view, so he pushed it aside. “Hello.?” The young man said. The words were alien to him, almost like he didn’t know what they meant, and they were simply blurted out.

“Unusual to see someone here.” The hooded man said, muttering to himself. Then he left without a second thought and went along his way. The hooded man towered over the young man. And something seemed imposing about him that made the distinction as to the “young man” and the “man”. The young man walked briskly following the cloaked figure.

“I'm Metas, you?” The man said. “It’s Felkin.” The young man said, again wondering why the words seemed to be unrecognizable yet he still understood what they meant.

“So Felkin, why are you following me? Do you not have a home you are leaving behind?” Felkin stared for a moment at the wood he came from, of the looming trees he was leaving behind. "I... don't think so." Said Felkin. The two continued walking silently across a plain scarce with life but with dark earth and occasional puddles of mud along the way.

Metas stooped and sat down under a leafless tree, Felkin out of instinct drew his “tool” and cut down the branches from the top of the tree. Metas looked at the implement and saw a dull shortsword, he stared perplexed as the sword segmented and extended; cutting a few of the dead wood’s branches. Felkin caught them and set them down onto the ground.

Felkin’s cloth wrapped hands picked up two rocks from the ground and began striking in vain. Metas closed his eyes for a moment and then snapped his fingers and then a small hint of smoke emerged from the dead branches. “Hmm!” Felkin laid the rocks on the ground and sat down.

As the fire grew and the night went on, Metas and Felkin sat quietly with almost nothing stirring beyond their campfire. The only sounds heard were that of metal as Metas sharpened his spear and his armor that crinkled faintly. They both sat and stared at the fire, occasionally Felkin would retrieve more wood from the tree as Metas watched in silent curiosity.

Metas tossed Felkin a piece of bread and Felkin slowly munched on it. “Your sword is dull.” Said Metas. “Yes... It is.” Felkin said looking at the instrument that lay at his cross-legged feet, now registering it to be a “sword” another foreign but familiar word. They sat without saying any words until the sun was beginning to rise.

Then Metas perked up and held his weapon, “Something’s here.” Felkin sensed danger and picked up his sword on instinct. The sky bathed the land in an orange hue but no birds nor animals could be heard. Then a creature rose as if part of the horizon it’s dark color indistinguishable from it. It was like ink rising from a dark river, it seemed black as night in contrast with the sunrise it emerged from. It rose with a hunched back and reared its head.

It was an animal. Felkin thought, or something that resembled an animal. The creature appeared like a wild dog completely covered in fur, two yellow eyes and a mouthful of fangs were seen as the creature slowly approached them. It had lanky arms and legs and was hunched over. It's torso bulging with its ribcage nearly bursting out of its skin.

It was a ‘Lycanthrope’, as Felkin thought these things, the creature lunged before it was immediately interrupted by a strike from Metas' spear. The spear pierced its side, it then let out a gurgle or something resembling a cry.

The creature inches from Felkin twitched and he instinctively swung his sword, the sword extending and hitting the thing in the jaw, the creature fell back, its face a bloody puddle done in by the instrument that was more bludgeon than sword. “It was already dead. Although you made impressive work of it. I thought you would be dead in an hour’s time alone in the wild. This thing... It's a- “Lycanthrope.” Felkin cut Metas off. “Hmph. Surprised you knew.” Metas said with an unperturbed expression. Felkin had no response and stared. They both stood up and walked forward with the fire being left behind as cinders blowing smoke in the wind.