In Ashton’s world there is no such thing as sunrise; there is no such thing as the sun. This was a symptom of a land without order, a form of chaos that plagued the land.

Ashton awoke, though, at an unknown time, in the unknown place now far beyond the village boundaries he rightfully should have never left. The caravan was still traveling and it was like it never stopped. Still bleary eyed, Ashton pushed himself up off the dirty straw and saw parties of soldiers break off from the main group and then others return with more spoils, all the while the group plowed ahead like an unstoppable behemoth. Looking back again Ashton saw their trail. The tail end of the caravan was a long ways away, many carriages and wagons separated them, but comparatively, Ashton’s wagon was near the end of the group. He saw the fireline burning, great wildfires and smoke arose from the plains and forests they just crossed like a lasting curse from the traveling troupe. Ashton would have wept again to see this land ravaged so, if he only had more tears. Or water and energy. Even through the heat of the fire and smoke, Ashton realized he was thirsty and hungry. Ashton’s people were used to such hardships though and He gritted his teeth and steeled himself. He doubted food or water would come anytime soon from the heartless captors..

Now there was time, lots of lonely hours to spend in his confinement. He struggled against the bonds against him again with more rationality now, seemingly nonexistent but horribly real. It was to no avail, whatever sorcery it was had a secure hold on him.

Ashton recalled the figure that shared the compartment with him, the one different from the others with the red clothes. He looked about and found him, almost buried underneath the muck and men in the the cage. What he wore was filthy and disfigured, but it was still distinctly red, a color Ashton had never seen before in clothing. He wondered at it, and also the shackles that were placed on him. Why did he not have a spell to bind him like Ashton and the others had? What made him different? Ashton inspected him further and saw that he had been severely beaten, another difference between him and the rest of the group. It seems the guards didn’t like him; perhaps it was connected to the shackles he was wearing. Either way, Ashton saw he needed aid and someone to bind his wounds. He wasn’t conscious and Ashton was doubtful he would even survive.

The wagon bounced and jolted on a bump and the half dead man groaned in pain. Finding new purpose, Ashton quickly ripped off some of his clothing and bound the strange man’s wounds, trying to clean him up. It seemed the guards that walked loosely nearby didn’t care if he actually lived or died. Ashton decided he would look after the man, perhaps he would learn something. At least it was something to do in captivity

After cleaning up the man’s muddy and bloody face, Ashton saw he was young, probably very similar in age to Ashton. He caressed the man’s head in his lap before looking out once again to the burning plains and meadows.

“Wake up,” Ashton said, pleading to the man. “Wake up or wake me up from this nightmare. It is not fair that you pass the time by in sleep, while the I continue in hardship.”

But the man did not wake up and the time passed slowly as the caravan continued its march towards its unknown end. No attempt at explanation was ever provided to Ashton from his captors as to what they had planned for him. The caravan had long since passed the edges of what Ashton believed to be the end of the world. If he escaped, would he even be able to make it back to his home? He felt in his heart that he would see things unimaginable before he made it back to his village. Already he felt like he had aged from that of a child in the time he has been away.

After a long time the man Ashton was looking after hadn’t regained consciousness yet, and Ashton doubted he would survive for much longer, even after what little care Ashton could provide. The man had a startling fever and Ashton had nothing to treat it with; the only comfort he really could provide was his presence.

He kept the man’s head in his lap to soften the bumps the wagon went over and Ashton studied the other occupants with his eyes. His earlier attempts at communicate with them had utterly failed. They only sat and stared with their eyes open, seeing but not seeing and hearing but not understanding or caring. Ashton didn’t recognize their races either. He knew there were other tribes not too far from his tribe. There was sometimes trade and discourse between the them, and often disputes, but Ashton rarely saw them. Where had these people come from? It seemed they came from from far off places Ashton hadn’t believed existed, outside the boundaries of his world. Ashton could not help but pity them, but he wondered if he would soon be affected in the same way. One thought encouraged him though. If they had survived, it must mean that they had been fed.

Time lapsed and he was hungry. A waterskin was passed around by the soldiers. Or at least Ashton thought it was a waterskin. It wasn’t made of any material Ashton recognized, but at least it held water. After taking a long draught he then tried to share it with the man he was watching. He wasn’t too successful. As with all other things though, the water skin was strange, it didn’t seem large enough to hold all the water that flowed from it. He watched skeptically as it was passed around under the stern eyes of the soldiers and everybody drank their fill of it. It startled Ashton to see his fellow prisoners move for the water, and Ashton got his hope up slightly. But when it was over the prisoners returned to their lifeless selves. Ashton suspected there was more sorcery in it, and he tried not to think about it.

Soon enough all was quiet again, and dark. The lanterns that traveled with the caravan seemed to brighten and dim at some appointed schedule, and at the moment they had all dimmed to almost nothing. Ashton watched the burning trail the company left, blazing and flickering in the dark. Ashton imagined there was screaming and fighting surrounding all the flames, but from the carriage, Ashton could only see the burnt fields and forests. He thought of his village and wondered what had happened. Surely it wasn’t all destroyed and everybody killed or captured? he hadn't seen any of his fellow villagers around at all, but he knew the caravan was vast. He hoped the rest made it safely up to their secret fortress on top of the mountain but thought that they probably lost a lot from from what they left behind.His village knew hardship intimately though, he imagined the group lingering on and mourning the loss of their people and belongings but persevering regardless. It was not their custom to mourn too hard; loss was ever present with the group. He knew they would not long be looking for him.

The wagon rolled on and Ashton sang softly, a song from his village

All is darkness and all is here,

But all is lost and all is fear.

Where does the rain fall from,

Where does the river go?

I haven’t known the wind to stop

Nor the fire to lose its glow.

Heed not the mysteries around us,

Keep your head down low

Our enemies forever chase us,

Death follows the sound of the bow.

Run and flee, turn and strive

Keep close to you the hope of your lives

Though all my pain be gone,

You life still there to keep

But perhaps it is better to find

Yourself in the eternal sleep

Looking down at the man under his care, Ashton spoke, “What are you dreaming of? Do you too dream of your household, with the wind and the tassels around you? Or perhaps of your lover; are you in her arms right now, free from the worries of the world, content only at where you lay? Or perhaps you feel what I feel and hear what I hear. Did you hear my song, red man? Our songs are our history and our instruction passed down from our fathers in the long past. But look at me now, look at how I have disobeyed them. Should I have truly ignored by sister’s plight and stayed safe on the mountain? I could not, but the songs tell me that I should have. Perhaps they were right; look at where I am. And now, the songs are all I have left.”

Soon after the lanterns dimmed, Ashton fall asleep, his back leaning up against the side of the carriage and the man’s head still in his lap. He woke up later to the sound of food being distributed; the guards had returned carrying baskets of bread. Ashton felt heartened at the thought of food in his stomach. The other occupants regained life spectacularly for the occasion, yelling and clamoring like animals for the loaves as they were thrown in, scaring Ashton. He didn’t want to move suddenly with the man still on him and was afraid that he would not get food in time, but he was also afraid of the suddenly beast like behavior of the men in the cage with him. There seemed to be an endless supply of the bread too, similar to that of the water. He did eventually get some and ate it gratefully. It was thick and dark, but he was concerned as to how to feed it to his patient. The red man was still unconscious and Ashton knew from experience that he would die soon if the fever did not break. His wounds had been bandaged as best they could, but there was little Ashton could do about the fever but wait.

The lanterns had brightened considerably again, creating more light around the caravan and Ashton once again wondered at them. Were they magic or some other form of light? Why did they brighten and dim at all, but not maintain a constant light? When the lights were all at their brightest it bothered Ashton considerable and he tried to cover his face to keep the light away.

The time passed similarly as the period previously, the rolling wagons, the shouts of soldiers and he clanking of the metal. Ashton spent much of it singing softly, as his people did to comfort themselves. But before the singing had always been with his people, and with it the feeling that however terrible things were, there were always people beside you. But in this place he sang alone.

The lanterns dimmed again and Ashton guessed that it was some form of keeping time. At least it was convenient to sleep when the lanterns were low. But AShton was suddenly startled to see his patient was losing his battle. The man was now sweating and shaking intensely. Ashton felt his temperature and knew he was to die soon. Ashton had been prepared for this eventuality, but the death of his pretend companion still wounded him terribly. He held the man’s hands and he thought of a song of departure from his village. He wiped off the red man’s sweat and Ashton sang,

The world is harsh and cold and dark

The lands all groan and sway,

A man struggles to work and live

But soon your troubles will go away

My brother, may you find peace

Your labors are over and your striving is done

You leave this land and darkness

Leave everything to your daughters and sons

You may have lost your life

But our loss is greater still

We will miss your voice and laughter

We will lose your strength and will

But be at ease and rest in peace

For although we know not what lies ahead

we pity the living who struggle and care

We do not pity those who are dead

Ashton finished his song and looked upon the man sadly and wept. The man groaned in his slumber and Ashton put his head in his lap again. His heart was heavy, and Ashton lapsed into fitful dreams.

He awoke suddenly, however, while the lanterns were yet dim. He noticed something strange; the man now wore a necklace with a beautiful gleaming ring on it. How could he not have noticed it before? The ring was radiant and beautiful, and it shown even in the dim light of the lanterns. He picked it up and looked at it. It was silver with specific markings and a large crest Ashton did not recognize was on it. The thing itself amazed Ashton as no such skill existed in his village to create such a thing. Even as he held it, though, it grew warm and then hot. Too hot to hold. Ashton dropped it quickly with a cry before it burned him. It lay on the man’s chest, shining brightly, and Ashton was afraid it would draw attention of the guards and tried to cover it while watching intently. Then was a sudden bright flash and it was over, as quickly as it began.

Ashton hesitated for a moment, and then drew closer to the man again. He touched ring tentatively and found it was cool again and no longer shining. He picked it up but even as he held it, it disappeared from his sight, and Ashton ended up holding nothing in his hands. He was astonished and felt around for it before he was convinced it really had disappeared. He contemplated the sorcery and wondered that he saw so much of these strange things lately. Perhaps it was a death call of the man’s people. Ashton did not know.

The man suddenly breathed deep and opened his eyes, as if waking up from a short nap. Ashton was astonished to see his wounds had healed and his sickness was gone. Ashton gazed in amazement at the man before him, a man on whom he had already given up hope on. The man breathed deep again, opened his eyes, and searched his surroundings.

His face twisted in a grimace and he groaned miserably, “Dammit, I’m still dreaming.”