Rick woke, eyes like resin on his face, feeling sticky and slimy, as if waking up with an eye infection. He moved to remove the foul substance, but couldn’t, his arm as heavy as lead, as stiff as wooden logs. Legs just as unresponsive, fighting him for the right to control his body. Making things worse, he felt and heard his stomach growling, the earlier cake already forgotten.

Cake, girl, monster, death. The four thoughts flashed in his mind, remembering, realizing. He pushed, pulled and used all the muscles that his eye allowed, then using every little muscle that wasn’t wounded or fatigued, pushing his body to the absolute limit, trying to get himself up. But to no avail, his body wouldn’t listen, barely opening to let a glimmer of light enter his eye, blindingly bright.

So, he waited, waited for his body to get stronger, to give him the power to lift himself. His throat feeling the lack of water, his body also feeling it, pulsating pain and discomfort. Yet, Rick still felt surprised, confused about why he wasn’t hurting so much more. It was more like having trained for too long, like small cuts covering his body, like not having slept enough. Far from what he thought he should feel. And also, why he wasn't dead.

Something to think about. He didn’t have much else to do. He didn’t have the luxury to decide his own faith, not now at least. Especially after what he'd done, or failed to do.

Eventually, one eye plopped open, immediately closing it as the light proved its renown for being bright. On instinct, Rick reached for the eye, arm finally obeying, albeit slowly. It reached his eye in slow motion, slowly wiping the sticky substance away from his eyes, smearing it over his face instead.

Opening the eye, he was met with the sight of cloudy skies, sun peeking around them, giving Rick a big hearty “hello”. The sun felt comforting, warm. He gave himself a moment to get immersed in the comforting feeling, warmth spreading like a growing tree spreading its roots.

But all things must come to an end, for Rick it was his stomach reminding him about reality, a constant reminder that life had to continue, that it always needed fuel to exist, to be. He slowly rolled around on his stomach, stretching his neck up and staring out over the grassy ground, stopped in his track when his eyes met the sight of his best friend, staring back at Rick with a lanky smile. The two staring at one another in perfect harmony, silence and contemplation. Stopped when Rick pushed himself up slowly, stumbling awkwardly, having to wait, then push more. Each push like having a hundred rocks on his body.

Finaly getting up and sitting on his knees, he looked back at his best friend, Bob, seeing him looking back, arms stretched out, searching for a hug. Rick imitated the gesture, hugging his friend, patting the back of his head while gently caressing it. Rick knew he had taught him that hug, that it wasn’t real. But it was still very nice, and Rick needed a hug. Ending the embrace prematurely, he gently picked Bob up and held him gingerly, searching around for his pack. But to his dismay, he couldn’t find it.

Head held low, he carefully placed his friend in his shirt pocket, head poking out like an oversized melon, smiling jankily and clapping happily at the wondrous location. Rick couldn’t help but feel happy about the little guy, even if his exterior remained unchanging, unmoving.

Turning around, Rick searched for his waterskin. To his great relief, he quickly found it fastened to his belt. But to his dismay, it was empty. His parched throat had to wait just a bit longer, how long, he couldn’t tell.

Looking up, he searched the sky for its yellow dot. Quickly spotting it, he thought back on childhood, on past lectures, on previous experiences. Quickly reminded were north was, being the opposite of the town. Looking down, he scanned his battered body. Holes from tiny teeth marked it, clothes ripped from both old tears and new, glued onto his body from the many scabbing wounds. His shoes the only possession with any inherent value, without any major disrepair, maybe the most important clothing he owned.

With a slow sigh, breathing out soundless air, he pondered his options. He was wounded, heavily but not life threateningly. He could push that issue aside for the moment, it would have to be a constant gnawing at the back of his head instead. He was hungry if his rumbling bottomless pit was any indication, he needed food. But that could wait too, cake from yesterday could sustain him until something better came. Water, water was his priority. With it, he could clean, drink and ponder. The last maybe not as important, but still worthwhile.

A direction in mind, a goal set in place and a mind forged into iron, Rick took his first steps towards a new, uncertain future. The first steps wobbly and stiff, pain like old leather wrapped for too long. With blood pumping and flowing, he knew it would hurt less, so he pushed through the pain, up and over sticks and stones so they may not break his bones.

Bob made himself known, bobbing back and forth as if riding a galloping horse, clapping his two uneven hands together. Rick patted his head, glad that one of them had a good time. Then he stopped, paused in his step as he looked down on Bob, wondering how he was moving. He hadn’t given him life, he wouldn’t have risked him, not for anything. But then again, he was in a hurry and it was dark, he might have accidentally picked him up and done it. Bob noticed Rick’s awkward stop, shuffling around the tight pocket and casting an angry eye up at Rick. Rick stared back, being brought out of thoughts when he saw the amusing frown that Bob wore, nodding in response and kept on walking. Bob patted the top of Rick's chest, like petting a dog for being a good boy.

Rick looked away, amused but not in the mood. His thoughts felt heavy. They were hard to assemble, thirst and pain taking their place, like ants tickling his body on an icy floor. But what could Rick do, he could not go back, he could only go forwards, forwards towards the unknown. Trees that usually brought comfort now blocking his way, making the journey more painful than it should.

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What surprised Rick the most was that time was his biggest enemy. Time made his pain worse, time made his hunger worse, time made his thirst worse. The usually bright sun being a beacon of heat, ever increasing Rick’s fatigue, making what should be a simple journey, sweaty and cold. The sun had moved across the sky; It had been in the forefront, now close to the end. And Rick knew that he was almost out of time, the dark bringing other dangers, dangers better not traversed if he could avoid it.

A sound, Rick suddenly heard a sound, one pleasant and gentle, like honey for his ears. The sound of running water, distant and faint, but burned a fire of hope within Rick’s heart. He furthered his steps, longer than before, practically jogging, throat crying in joy. After breaching a particularly tricky bush, he almost fell headfirst into a shallow river. Letting his eyes lick the sight, he dove headfirst, head slamming painfully into the bottom of the river. He didn’t care, he drank groggily, heavily. It was the sweetest nectar, the best drink he had ever had, as if he hadn’t drunk for an eternity, for a millennia.

Orange skies were breaching his euphoria, bringing him back to reality. He refilled his waterskin and walked slowly downstream in the river’s direction. He could easily cross it but felt no need. Instead, he searched for a calm, hidden and peaceful place to sleep. One impossible to find, pondering if he should build a shelter or not, deciding that a big bush would do before night swallowed his sight fully. The bush didn’t calm him, it wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

Darkness slowly faded into its rightful place, darkening the land. Rick stared shakily into the stream, bush brushing against his back and head. His bodies slowly accumulated fatigue reminded him that it still existed, the many wounds throbbing like small biting insects, like hammers on a hot anvil. His eyes caught something shimmering in the shallow water. Wanting an escape from his painful body and mind, he stared expectantly at it, its shimmering and glittering surface growing more and more pronounced as darkness fell.

Eventually Rick’s curiosity got the better of him, forcing him a task that was probably just stupid. Taking off his shoes, woolen socks and putting down Bob while pointing a firm finger at him, telling him to stay. He waddled into the freezing water, eyes set on the shimmering something. It wasn’t far, and he reached it quickly, grasping for it with two shivering hands. After grabbing it, he found himself surprised, the texture feeling wooden, like that of a split log. Pulling it out, that was just what it was. Holding it in an infirm embrace, Rick turned around, searching for what could have glittered in the night. But no matter how much he turned, he found nothing. Eventually, his icy feet was what forced him away, cold and painful, mind grumbling about the misfortune.

Up and back on dry land with shoes, socks and a mystery log, he waddled into the safety of his big bush. Laying out his shoes and socks in the driest place Rick could find, he placed his feet as far away from his clothes as possible and turned his attention to the log.

Even though it was dark, night consuming all light, Rick could tell that this log wasn’t anything special. The only thing special was that it was rather dry for something coming out of water, but that could just mean it hadn’t been underwater for long. Yet, yet. The log comforted Rick; The log felt safe; It felt strong; It felt like something that would protect him. So what did he do? He decided to make a statue out of it.

Taking out his knife, and patting Bob for being a good boy, he set out to carve. The monotonous task bringing comfort in the otherwise cold, damp and scary night. Wooden splinters flying like arrows against an invisible enemy. Each stroke like a master weapon-smith hammering away at his finest sword. It went quick, quicker than any other statue Rick had made, but he didn’t notice. Time like a vacuum when he carved. Then in a flash, the next step was underway, the one were form and shape was put into place, and Rick had to pause. What did he want, what did he need, what did the wood tell him?

It only took Rick a second to think, already aware of what the wood had told him. He carved it, finer than before, more detailed than before. Each push like a painter painting their finest piece, like a pianist playing their finest piece. And like before, it went a lot faster than it had a right to, and this time Rick had noticed. Surprised by how quick the statue had taken form. He felt a spark of fright that he might have rushed it, that his mind was cloudy from the treacherous day. But looking at it from every angle, it looked perfect, amazing even.

With a shrug he set out to finish it, doing his favorite part, doing what made creating statues worth it. He carved the details, the buttons, the eyes, the shoelaces, everything that made things more, more. This time, it took time, going slow on purpose, forgetting his place in the world, forgetting about the awful monsters lurking in the dark, forgetting about his failure to save one single girl. But it was time well spent, time spent doing what he enjoyed, what he loved, he was having a good time, forgetful of the cold, pain and regret.

Then he finished, and his cheeks tugged upwards, reaching for a smile, a smile that didn’t come but he was still happy. He looked at the finished statue, staring at it as if looking at a newborn baby. Seeing a young man, not old enough to bear children, but old enough to wear a rugged beard. His eyes shone of strength, his pose shone of power, his smile of kindness. His sheathed sword a warning for anyone daring to hurt his friend, his shield big enough to protect all that he loved, his armour shining to blind anyone wicked. It was a knight, a knight of the highest caliber, the highest order, and Rick felt proud to even know such a great man.

Now, it was time to carve the uruz rune, and Rick knew just the place, normally hard to find, now easy. He would place it squarely onto the shield, like a shining beacon of hope. With three swift carves, the rune was finished. Letting himself get immersed in his mind, feeling the life within, life that he pushed into the brave knight. Life that traveled fast, far faster than any statue before, far stronger than any statue before. Alarm flashed in Rick’s mind, telling him he wasn’t strong enough. But no matter how much he tried to stop it, it wouldn’t, life draining like stones in a waterfall. Rick closed his eyes, missing the moment were the knight shone with a blinding light, the brightest of silver, like feathers on an angel. Life pouring out faster than Rick could handle, it didn’t pain him, but it alarmed him, it was dangerous, it could kill him.

Then it suddenly stopped, and Rick felt a fatigue far worse than any he had ever felt, not even the fatigue he felt when he thought he had died could compare. He fell backwards, further into the bush, eyes closed. He was tired, oh so tired. It was time to sleep.