He awoke to a faint sound... the whisper of the wind through the trees.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, feeling his body heavy, as if it were a part of the earth itself. The fire he had lit the night before had died down, leaving behind only remnants of ash and a thin wisp of smoke.
(Inner Monologue)
"How many hours did I sleep? Or maybe... how many years?"
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, reaching for the sword beside him, then feeling the book still tucked under his head. Everything around him appeared just as he had left it, and yet... something in the air had changed. The air was colder, the light dimmer, and the sounds more cautious, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to move.
He stood slowly, adjusting his torn cloak, then washed the remnants of sleep from his face with the lake's water.
He had to leave... he had to keep moving, no matter how near or far the end might be.
