Ronan looked at my master, his face showing everything he was thinking at that moment. Disdain, pity, resolution. In his eyes he said everything he needed to say, she was being stupid. He turned his gaze away from master and towards me, looking at me with cold eyes and let go of my hair. I moved away from Ronan and without noticing I tried to hide behind the herbalist. But she moved, her tear stained face trained on me, so that I couldn't.

"Leave." Ronan spoke first, his voice hard, as if I was unworthy of further explanation. I looked over towards my master, her eyes staring at mine. Not showing either hatred or love, she kept her eyes on me as I stood there. "Leave, before I kill you, outlaw."

I turned and ran. Away from the village, and away from the herbalist's hut, I ran, not realizing that Ronan was only bluffing. I was not yet an outlaw, no chief of a mere village could decide that so simply. Not so quickly, at least. The faces of my dad and mom, of my siblings, passed by my eyes, the feeling of helplessness welling up within my stomach once again. But it fueled my running, and for now the only thing I wanted to do was run. So my feet took me for as long as they could into the colorful abyss of the forest.

Sending me off into the cold fall air, with neither my cloak or tunic, only my trousers, waterskin, and knife was a death sentence. I would not be able to gather enough food to survive the winter, not unless I learned how to expertly hunt until the coming spring. I didn't know how to set up traps, nor did I know how to hunt small game or large. Both master and Ronan knew I would die if master wasn't correct.

I knew I was going to die if master wasn't correct.

Forget simply eating, I would freeze death if I couldn't make a shelter to survive within. And I failed to do so by winter's come, I would freeze to death regardless of a shelter if I couldn't manage to make a new cloak.

The thoughts of freezing to death ground me back into reality. That was an unwelcome intrusion, I did not want to come back to reality, I wanted to run away until all my problems are no longer in sight. To a place that there was no longer any deaths, or a place that would no longer so callously kill the ones I loved, or the ones that would bring to me monsters that I could not win against. My legs will take me there, and if they can't I will use my hands and crawl there. Until my muscles are used, burnt out and my skin raw, I would find a way to get there.

Of course, reality wasn't so kind as to let me escape its grasp. Not by tripping from a root, or by tripping upon any of the ground's features, but through exhaustion was my will taken and subdued, my passion and fears feeding on the excess of what I knew I desired, growing as I realized I couldn't run when my legs refused to move. Heavy breathes were the only thing I could manage to do, falling on my knees and with hands on the ground I waited until the exhaustion no longer had its grip on me.

The sense of the scenery brought me back to my surroundings. The cold autumn air burned my lungs, my mouth dry and my hands were numb, my fingers red and nearly tender. I had run far enough. I no longer knew where I was, although that could be quickly remedied by taking in more of my surroundings. I am experienced enough with the land that any travel away from the herbalist's home less than a day's walking, I would be vaguely familiar with, but that in actuality helped me very little. I would want to stay away from the village, the further away the better, and for that fact any village I would want to stay away from.

An outlaw is outside of the law. Outlaws are not protected people, they have no rights and no properties, anyone can do what they please to me and they would be fully in their own right to do so. Although the fact I was an outlaw would only really be known in the village I belonged to, there would be no reason why any polite or and civil person would treat me well for longer than customs and proper civility demands. If I'm lucky, I could become a daer fuidhir, the lowest class of man. If I weren't, then my life would be taken by either men or by nature.

Whatever. Thinking is too hard. Thinking has never done anything good for me. Looking around my surroundings I noted nothing special, the same oak trees stood. The same fallen leaves on the same dirty ground. The land was more or less flat, I wasn't on hilly ground, the only terrain features that might make walking or running difficult was the fallen trees and the tall flora. But that wasn't truly a problem, not for anyone but those who wear clothes that can easily catch against straying branches. Lucky for me, I only had trousers to be caught by. No features that indicated easy pickings, or plentiful foods that I could easily live off of. Surviving would be harsh.

Rationally, I knew all of this. I knew where to find food, even in fall, although I would most likely starve come winter. If I could manage to hunt some small game my survival would be assured, more or less depending on whether or not I can manage to put together clothes for my torso as well. But all of that feels too distant.

I sat on the ground, then laid my back on it as well. I watched the sky in its blue majesty, white strains of cloud lazily moving past me towards some destination I would most likely never see or find. I was too tired to move, too tired to walk, too tired to think, and too tired to do anything at all. So I stayed like that until the sun solidified his descent into the earth, not thinking about anything and not paying attention to the cold any longer.

Eventually I came back to my senses. I did not sleep, I stared into the sky and did absolutely nothing throughout the day. The air was beginning to grow colder, and my fingers were starting to lose real feeling. But that really didn't matter to me. I got up off the dirty ground, letting leaves that had fallen on me go to their proper destination. I would need to find water if I were to survive, if I wanted to survive. Food would come later, there isn't enough time left in the day for that.Walking, I took notice of my surroundings.

The walking helped me awake from this stupor I was trapped by. My mind once again started to work, and I once again realized the situation I was in. I was without water, without food, freezing and if I couldn't start a fire, frostbite could easily crawl its way into that list. I'm lucky it was dry, no rain had fallen for weeks now. If I had pyrite it would be extremely simple to start a fire, a source of warmth come night. But it all sounded like too much work. Just find a stream, don't worry about anything else, Attie.

Walking around to look for any major variation in terrain, for anything that would lead to water, such as downward sloping lands, gullies, although I probably wouldn't be able to find any of that. Perhaps my best bet wouldn't be to find water but instead to find someplace where I can retain enough heat throughout the night. There wasn't enough time in the day for me to make even the most rudimentary of shelters, or start a fire.

I had some experience building shelters, as a child I'd go out into the forest and play around with sticks and stones. That experience might help, but now it only told me I didn't have enough time. If there was some hole in the ground I can crawl into that'd be ideal. But digging a hole would take too much time as well. Why'd I do nothing but watch the clouds move for so long?

My life isn't the only one at stake here. If I don't make it back next year my family would pay the price, I'd rather not be the one responsible for rendering them without lands.

I'll think about all that later. A fallen tree, previously in life massive, as were most of the trees within this forest, had recently died. I've come across many of these, but seeing as they didn't provide the most amount of shelter possible, I wanted to find something more suitable. But I couldn't keep walking around as the sun made his ultimate descent, I needed shelter and this was the closest thing to it. I'd sleep where the tree uprooted itself and took the dirt along with its roots out of the ground.

Heading over to the depression of land I looked over any beasties that might make my life even more miserable. Fleas will inevitably get on me, but that is an acceptable consequence of not freezing to death, or truly eaten. Beetles, long crawling things, the occasional spider was all I could see. Those wouldn't cause me too much discomfort tonight, and there wasn't as much of them as there would be in spring or summer. I would sleep here and hopefully I won't become the new home of any insects that wanted a fine heat source to stay near. Hopefully none would find their way into my mouth.

Finding a good place to sit down, I sat and smoothed out the dirt beneath me. I'd be sleeping in the cold and without a tunic, this wasn't going to be a pleasant sleep.

Sleep did not take me. Even when the sun set, and the moon was at her own zenith, I stayed awake. Unlike my stupor of before, my mind was racing. When did Brenna develop those powers? Only her mother was able to cast fully manifested spells, spells that force an element into materialization. But her manifestations weren't enough to be used as lethal weapons as Brenna had. The tiniest of flames was the only thing she could usefully use her manifestations for, and the amount of concentration to do so was significantly greater than whatever concentration Brenna devoted.

What did she mean by being chosen? I have no answer for that, I barely have a clue of where to begin. She had cast spells that she never was able to do, magnificent castings that could be used in battle extremely effectively. She would've killed me if it weren't for her stupidity.

What could I have done to have prevented her death? When I first got stabbed, if I had wrestled her into submitting rather than shove her away, both of us would've most likely survived. If I had done that, she would not be dead. Of course if I had not listened to her words to begin with she would still be alive. Both cases were the only chances of me successfully dodging her death.

Why had I lived?

The pain of thinking tugged at me. Gradually my breathing began to worsen, and the sounds of insects began to rise. The crawling and squirming of the world around me deafened my senses, pulling me away from my thoughts of what could've been if only I were smarter. I hated it. I despised myself and my cowardice, the crawling pain of having lost another due to my own incompetence threatened to ruin my heart, I could only wish for it to go away. But I could not run from it. I couldn't run from this mistake.

I hugged my knees and waited throughout the night. The sensation did not abate, it did not stop, there was no release. This was the sign of my guilt and it can't be waited out, it was not a wound that could be healed by time, or forgotten. Only answered to, given tribute towards, accommodated and submitted to. I had no answer to how I could find peace from the black worms eating at my spirit. No matter how many questions were asked, the only answer that I could give was the acknowledgement of my own weakness.

Night became day once again. I had not gotten a single drop of sleep, the blanket of darkness over me provided no relief. Neither did the sun's rays, shivering as I was I couldn't find it within me to appreciate the warmth of his touch. Thirsty, hungry, sleep deprived, tired, my limbs were sore and my ass hurt from doing nothing but sit all night. My bones creaked as I stood up, cracks followed as a stretched my back. Looking around, I noted nothing new.

No spirit would find pity with me, no faery would help me in my trouble. I had to survive, the sickness of my own spirit only worsened at the thought of causing my family more grief. I only wanted to find relief, but that relief can only come through suffering through the winter, and going back to the village in fall. And to do that, the first thing I should do is find water. If I happened upon any edibles along the way, that would be fine as well.

My movements were sluggish. I couldn't really feel my feet, and my hands were more metaphysical concepts than actual appendages. But that didn't matter much. I looked above the sky and tried to look for any signs of flying birds. Birds in the morning might lead to the way to a water source. I could walk all the way to the river for water, the one I knew to have existed, but men might be spotted there as well. I'd rather not risk it. Our village wasn't the only one using the river, a town of almost a thousand people could be found if you went downstream enough. Best to stay clear of that.

No birds.

I sniffed and started walking. I don't remember where I was precisely, and where I was walking to, but I just wanted to walk. I'll find something. I didn't use to be a herbalist apprentice for nothing.

I should've refilled my waterskin. I was thirsty, the sound of my heart was getting louder, and my legs were starting to cramp. Would there be some sort of fruiting plant still with its fruit somewhere? I hope. I looked across the ground for any sign of water, any sign of draining, for even the smallest hint of the ground sloping downward, but there was none. Neither food or water in sight, I was damned to walk across the forest, without a shirt and most probably with several fleas already on me.

At least I wasn't dead. But I would be soon if I didn't find anything. Eventually, that anything came. Wood apples, still alive and not either rotten or stuff full of vermin, hopefully. I didn't run, I didn't have the energy to, but I walked a bit faster to the forest's bounty. The greenish-yellow of the fruit almost unnaturally alluring, my mouth had begun to once again become wet at the thought of eating of the fruits.

Pacing around the tree for any sign of good apples, any apples at all, I could find none. Was I mistaken? Had my eyes played tricks one me? All of them were either rotting, fallen, or looked filled with bugs. I found one that looked the most agreeable, and found it to be unnaturally squishy.

This isn't natural. These kinds of fruits don't decay so quickly, autumn should be a perfectly fine time to pick them. Anger took over as I threw the apple in hand at the very same tree I picked it from, and watched as it broke and splashed its contents across it. I looked around in a rush to find a good apple. But there were none. All of the same, the apples were either infested or looked prematurely aged and over ripe.

I picked up a fallen stick and began whacking the tree with it, watching as apples fell to my wrath and the tree's branches break along with it. Whatever spirit infested this tree, whatever malady it wished to inflict upon others in unfair retribution, whatever sick and twisted game it had played on me, I made sure not to leave the crime unpunished. Irrational, I know, a tree so sick and weak isn't truly deserving of the punishment I was giving it.

And that thought struck me then, stick in hand, and the flesh of the apples covering the ground below. I wanted to yell, to scream, to do something other than glare at the tree, but even then I knew it didn't deserve it. What weakness I had, I had no right to hurt something else in order to appease it. It wasn't the tree's fault I had no feed or water, and its attempt to provide the world with sustenance shouldn't be punished if it failed. The rage left me, alone again with my sin, the pain of failure, of my weakness, etching itself deeper into my soul. In my head I can only say sorry, but no words could be spoken.

Breathing in deep breaths, I waited until the tingling of the anger also left me. With less energy, I again began to walk. But the walking became tiresome, and I wanted to do nothing but sleep. I found a suitable tree, whatever tree would provide to me what little shelter it could, sat next to it and waited for sleep to take hold of me.

Perhaps I had lost it entirely. Another day wasted, another opportunity for death to claim me.