As Cerid Creed bled to death, his mind was filled with blackberries. His grandfather, Cadby, had regaled him with war stories in which, at the haunting and lulling brink between life and expiration, the thought of a single thing had given him the will to carry on. For Cadby and many others, thoughts of their homeland and loved ones pushed them to fight onward and harder than ever before. Typical things that made for an honorable way of fighting and living on.

Cerid, however, discovered himself to be a different story in the present as, for the first time, he truly struggled to cling to life. Instead of any member of his too-expansive family tree or the good of his people, blackberries were what pushed his steps. He wanted to live so that he could once again watch dark drupes, each one a tiny burst of ecstasy on its own, convalesce into tantalizing morsels at summer’s peak, stain his lips and fingers feasting with greed. Yes, for the sake of blackberries, he would continue to hobble-run and ignore the way his own blood, erupting from a puncture to his stomach, slicked and itched his skin.

The attack had come unexpectedly, as surprise attacks had a tendency to do. A standard sweep of the border had exploded into a cacophony of blood and screeching. The Ghurians had come from the trees, the dense forests of Sacerian land hiding them as they crossed territory lines for a brief yet deadly assault. The standard belief among Sacerians was that, if one of the Creed family line was present, all would be well. Cerid, however, had done the worst thing a soldier could do: he’d hesitated. After being wounded, he had been told by his squadmates that his life was precious, to flee. It wasn’t that he was loved or valuable on his own; his status as a child of a noble family was what left him as the only survivor, the one to listen to the screams of his companions cut short.

Instead of turning back towards home and safety, he had fled to the Sirpoan border and past it. It was a marvel to watch the lush vegetation of Sacerian lands dwindle into a frosty mountainous region. The pathway towards Sirpo’s sole village, Equin, was clearly marked, built of stones with a roof to keep the snow from obscuring it. It twisted and turned, finding the best way upwards until Equin was in sight.

By the time he emerged at the top, Cerid’s teeth were chattering, and he could barely tell if he was putting one foot properly in front of the other. The walled pathway had provided him something to lean against, but, now that he was in the open, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from staggering off course.

But he was so close. He could see it, sturdy foundations looming double in his vision. Sharp winds buffeted drifting snow that fell against a soft gray sky. The wind cut through to his bones, and he almost cried out in pain. He’d heard of the temperature differences to be expected when one crossed the borders, but he hadn’t anticipated it would be like this.

“Oh, Gods,” he whispered as he finally fell, unable to move except for small spasms. It was so close. So close, if he could just manage to crawl… But he succumbed to the cold, inside and out, and drifted into what he fully believed was the grip of death.

When he woke, because he felt not an ounce of pain, Cerid thought he had ascended to Lasaitasuna, the land devoid of suffering where the kindhearted, good and faithful to the Pantheon of Old were blessed to live after death. However, the two figures standing over him were far from divine beings.

“You’re never going to get these stains out of your bedspread,” the first voice said, sounding amused.

“That’s not really what’s important here.” The second voice was impatient. “Did you bring them?”

“Sure did. You think they’ll fit?”

“He’s smaller than you, but it ought to be fine. Anyways, you do it.”

“What? Why me?”

“If I was ever going to choose to see a man naked, and I won’t, this would not be the way I’d do it. Okay? Okay. I’ll wait outside.”

“Again and always, why me?” the original voice sighed as a pair of feet tapped out of the room.

When Cerid felt hands grasp his shoulders, he found the abrupt power to rejoin reality. “I am not dead!” he shrieked, earning a punch to the face by the person he’d so terribly and inadvertently surprised.

The same footsteps that had left moments before came rushing back in. “Shark! I just saved his life. He was fine and dandy and what do you do? You whack him!”

“It’s not my fault! I’m not dead, he says. You will be if you surprise people like that!”

Cerid sat up and put a hand to his cheek, watching them. The one who had hit him had the oddest teeth he’d ever seen, sharp and pointy, and dark clothes, from a long, fitted jacket lined with fur, tight trousers and tall boots. The one yelling at the one who’d hit him was a round, pale girl whose lavender eyes peeked out like glittering bugs beneath a curtain of gray bangs. Maybe he was dead after all and he’d actually sunk into Agortzen, the land of sinners, instead, and these were simply the demons who were here to punish him. That…made more sense, after all. Someone like him would never make it to a land of goodness.