Cob grabbed a passing root and managed to pull his head out of the river. He tried to breathe air into his lungs, but they were half full of water. His right arm strained as he struggled to pull himself out onto the shoreline, the river pulling on him with a terrible power. He let out a gurgling scream as he slammed the stump of his left arm onto the stony ground. Quickly, so as to minimize the pain, Cob pushed his stump deeper into the stones and shimmied upwards. He didn’t stop screaming until he had torn himself away from the river's current and scrambled up onto the forest floor. He laid on his side and forcefully vomited the water out of him before falling onto his back.

He woke up when it was dark. The pain was almost unbearable. His chest felt as though he had been stabbed with a thousand knives. And his arm-

“Oh, Mother no!” Cob heaved and threw up some acrid sick that coated the inside of his mouth. He began to shiver uncontrollably. To do so hurt his broken ribs more than if he were just to lay still, but that didn’t matter. He was wracked with spasms for most of the night.

He moaned and cried out. He could think of nothing else to do. He couldn’t move, at least not yet, for the pain was so great. His screams were pitiful and weak. Moving his lungs too much brought him to the brink of passing out, and that had to be avoided. He had to stay awake at any cost.

**********

Cob had been laying in the cold night for hours and hours before Baetha got word of his presence. A doe had passed by the moaning man and retained the unpleasant memory long enough for Baetha to see it.

Baetha left his house and shivered. He wore a huge coat of white wolfskin and a bushy grey beard. “Of bloody course this is the bastard.” He said as he walked to the river where the fool was stranded. “It couldn’t ne’er be a bloody normal bloke walking along with a bloody toothache needs fixing. Oh no, no, no Baetha, has to be a half dead bloody crazed horned wanker who can’t bloody move. Oh aye, this’s the last time I do a damned favor for him. I’m done. If he can’t fix his own problems that’s up to him.”

Baetha finally reached Cob when he was at the point of being a jabbering mess. Cob had sunk into delirium. Baetha sneered and crouched down to look at Cob’s injuries. “Somebody messed you up beyond repair. And by listening to ya, not just by tearing off your arm.”

Cob shivered silently as his eyes rolled around their sockets.

Baetha pulled Cob away from the riverbank by his horns, kicking away any stones or sticks in their path that looked sharp enough to cut. He laid his coat on the ground and rolled Cob onto it. He wrapped the arms of the coat around Cob and stepped back.

Baetha cupped his gloved hands to his mouth yelled into the forest. “Roh! Cho hee ka hoh kotee Reekochotee.”

Cob tried to speak but Baetha couldn’t make out any words. He groaned and tried to roll over.

Baetha sighed and squatted down. “Calm down horns.” He pulled off his glove and touched a finger to Cob’s forehead.

Cob passed out and woke up in a warm room.

He hurt all over, but at least he could think. The room was small, a bed, desk and fireplace. Nobody was there but Cob. He was thirsty, so thirsty. He stumbled out of the bed and collapsed before making it a step. “Idiot. Idiot…Idiot.” Cob whispered groggily to the ground. He noticed that it was covered in sawdust before the lights went away and his mind-

“Stranger!” Cob snapped back into consciousness as Baetha nudged him with a hard boot. “Tsk, you’ve drooled all over my bloody floor. Get up.”

Every inch of Cob screamed in protest as Baetha hauled him back onto the bed. “And stay there this time. Movement will do you no good.” Baetha’s bearded face looked down at Cob with a resigned sense of concern.

Cob closed his eyes and awoke to Baetha sitting next to him on a little chair. The big man was sipping gently at a steaming cup and prodding at some cylindrical piece of wood on his desk. He looked at Cob, uninterested, and went back to his work. “About bloody time.” Cob heard Baetha whisper under his breath.

Cob chuckled painfully and rasped, “You’re quite unpleasant. Aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Where am I?”

“In my house.”

“Who are you?”

“You know.”

Cob frowned and stared contemplatively at the ceiling. He did know. But how?

“You’re not normal, are you?” Cob asked without looking back to Baetha.

“Take a wild fucking guess champion.” Baetha got up from his seat and threw a log into the hearth behind him. He sat back down.

Cob frowned angrily. “Do you know why I’m here? I was betrayed, attacked. And now I have to come back from the dead just to be ignored by some lummox.” Cob tried to lift himself from the bed but only managed to enrage his stump by leaning on it with his full weight. “Shit!” Cob seethed as he rested back down. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes. He started to kick at the walls.

“That’s enough.” Baetha shuffled his chair over and put his hand over Cob’s face.

Cob woke up to pitch blackness. He swore and tried to get up but felt restraints around his arms and chest. After a while Cob stopped straining and kicking and laid still. He stared into the darkness and finally let his mind wander away to what had happened to him. He remembered Brack’s severed head as it flew through the air. He remembered looking back at Trout and Miru and shouting at them. He hoped terribly that they hadn’t listened to him, that they ran away as fast as they could. He remembered how Brack’s head turned over and over as it fell toward him. He remembered how it felt as he caught it, how Brack’s horns pushed into his chest as if he were leaning against him. He yearned to hear the voice of his friend once again. If only for a moment.

Outside, the shrill yelp of a small animal somewhere far away was followed by the sound of crunching footsteps. Baetha opened the door with a burning lantern in his hand. Cob did not move as Baetha sat next to him and checked his stump. It was covered in a layer of stained bandages. He put the lamp on the table, revealing what looked like the foundational shapes of a wooden arm.

“Are you calm now?” Baetha said as he rewrapped Cob’s arm. “I don’t want to talk to you if you’ll just have another tantrum.”

“You haven’t even asked my name yet.” Cob whispered. Cob turned to Baetha and looked at him with a tired curiosity. “But… I feel that you have already been rummaging up here enough to know everything you need.” Cob tapped at his temple knowingly. “You’re the fabled Baetha. Guardian with the power of mind.”

Baetha looked slightly bored. “You are correct, good for you. And, If you need to know, the only reason that I am looking after you is as a favour to my brother. Without his intervention you would be long dead at the side of that river.”

Cob wished that he was dead. He knew that it would have been the least that he deserved. “So I don’t have to explain my circumstances to you? That I failed my nation. That I failed my… chief. That I was too pathetic to even let myself drown when it was over.” Cob glared at his pathetic stump. He couldn’t stand that Baetha was making a prosthetic for him. He could never be a whole man again.

“It’s not over. Nothing’s over. Your failure was your own, but the world continues on without you. Your nation breathes yet, and your chief is still alive in the minds of thousands.” Baetha pulled some thick chips of wood out of his pocket and tossed them onto his workbench. He continued to speak in casual tones as he whittled away at them. “I have seen this self-pitying nonsense many times before Cob, it’s nothing new. And to be honest I don’t blame you. You’re not impenetrable. Everyone has a breaking point.” Baetha flicked away the wood shavings with a practiced twist of his knife. “It’s just that we don’t have time for me to put you back together. At least not to a satisfactory degree.”

“I’m not broken. I am… a cancer. I destroy everyone I love.” Cob remembered how Charley had gazed up at him with such warmth, and how Brack had always been such a dependable friend to him. How could he have failed them both? He had tried so hard. A deep sorrow clenched at Cob’s throat.

Baetha put down his work. “What happened to your daughter… no father should have to go through such a thing.”

“And no girl should either.” Cob snarled. “And yet I let it happen. Me!”

“I know that anger is easier than sadness Cob. You should feel no shame for either.”

“Oh, shut up. I am done with your empty words.” Cob turned his head from Baetha. “Let me rest.”

Baetha turned back and worked on the fingers to Cob’s prosthetic. He sounded sad now, pitiful. The loving owner to his sick dog. “I promise I will. Just trust me.”

Cob felt a burning sensation at the back of his neck.

**********

“Come on, its not that hard!”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Cob limped more determinedly towards Baetha, leaning hard on the wooden rail next to him. He wore a determined grimace as he struggled to walk through the ankle high grass outside of Baetha’s cabin.

“So, are you ready to talk about what comes after?” Baetha said after Cob had reached him. “Your kind heals fast. Soon you’ll be in working shape.”

“Working for what? An artist who exclusively paints cripples? For a circus?” Cob waved his wooden arm around. Its joints creaked fainty as it swayed back and forth. “Perhaps I will be a beggar, hollering for bread on the streets and clubbing people with my arm.” Cob laughed as he turned to walk to the opposite end of the rail.

Baetha let out a deep sigh. “You’re Dreanar’s last hope, it’s a prophesy set in stone. We can infer from this that you will need to walk, perhaps quite a bit.”

“That’s what they all say.” Cobs laugh grew weaker as his brows furrowed in doubt. Obviously he was being manipulated. But to what ends he could not tell, not yet. “And… and what does this prophesy say then? That I’ll vanquish my foes and save the damsel in the end?”

“How many times do I have to say Cob? I can’t tell you anything except that it will end in victory for Dreanar, and that you are instrumental. If I said more the prophesy would fail, you know this.”

“It’s very cold. I’d like to go back now.” Cob said, his voice sounding strained.

“We’ve been here only a few minutes Cob.”

Cob turned to Baetha with a look of tired contempt. “I’m done. Take me back.”

“Cob. We aren’t done. We’ve a long way to go, in fact.” Baetha looked unphased at the change of tone. His face was as blank as a rock, and similar in sentiment.

Cob felt such a terrible feeling then. He felt the need for rage, for a wild show of hatred for this man who had victimised him; but he could not seem to summon it in full. When he reached for the emotion he came up with nothing. When he grasped for it, he could feel naught but a rounded stub where everything used to be. As if he were trying to breath with no air, or argue in an alien language. Not even the familiar sense of sadness would come, just tiredness, and a need to give up.

“What have you done to me? You’ve… You’ve neutered me.”

“In a sense.” Baetha seemed to loom in the distance, although Cob was slightly taller than him. His form lost its sharpness.

“You bastard.” Cob slurred as he slowly slouched to the ground, his body becoming numb. His wooden arm was latched firmly onto the bar, which kept him from laying fully into the grass. “Let… me…” Cob’s vision blurred into whiteness.

**********

“Dad. It’s me!”

“Charley? You’ve grown so much!” Cob hugged his daughter tightly. He couldn’t lift her off her feet as easily now, which made him strangely sad. Very sad.

“And you’ve grown too.” Charley smiled brightly as she stepped back from him. “You’re fat.”

Cob forgot his sadness for a moment and chuckled. “Sit with me, I’ve made some tea.”

“Alright.” Charley sat down and looked around Cob’s dreary flat. Real estate in the upper levels of Vigir wasn’t cheap, and splurging on friends wasn’t Brack’s style.

“Well, I would say you’ve let this place go,” Charley said as she blew gently on the surface of her tea, “but cleaning can only do so much in this place.”

“And don’t I know it.” Cob scratched at his beard and looked intently at Charley over his cup. “So, who should go first?”

“I guess I may as well.” Charley was a short woman, and she was beautiful, stunning. Her hair was as black as night, like her mother’s. A bit of blood dropped into her tea. “I’ve been doing well. It's quite calm where I am, never much trouble.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“I… can’t say it’s the most stimulating place though. One does get rather stuck with their own thoughts.” Charley picked absently at her nose, pulling away some loose skin. “They treat us nice enough. No hassles. It's all really quite… good.”

Cob was glad. Very glad. “Charley, you do know you’re welcome to visit me whenever? I miss you.”

“Dad, please.” Charley shook her head. “You mustn’t fret over me. My memory is enough for you, I promise.”

“It's not Charley. It’ll never be enough.” Cob felt that he should feel sad, horrified, maybe. Only joy filled his heart as he gazed upon his daughter. “But I’ll always love you.”

“Silly man. I’m not saying it’ll be enough to keep you happy… surely you understand.” Her eyes were such a deep brown. It was hard to tell when they were so full of blood.

“This isn’t a nice place, is it?” Cob looked down at his tea.

“I was killed, dad. It hurt, a lot. And at the end of this road is justice for me and every other girl that bastard hurt.” Charley placed a comforting hand on Cob’s knee. “Listen to Baetha and trust him. Because without him the road will be too hard for you. This I know.”

“You’re long dead. How could you know? How do you know?”

“Goodbye dad.”

Cob dropped his tea as his world disappeared.

**********

“A miss!” Brack patted Cob on the back. “There’s always more deer my friend, don’t let it get to you.”

“Oh, piss off you old codger.” Cob wadded through the dense undergrowth of the forest to retrieve his arrow. “I’d like to see you hit one from that far.”

“You’ll never find the thing. Just let it go.”

“Ok. Where to next then?”

“I’m pretty knackered, and these knees won’t hold me up for much longer.” Brack laughed and rubbed at his swollen knuckles. Cob was filled with a sense of respectful pity. Even legends get old, after all.

“Alright. Let’s get back.” Cob happily led the way back to camp, carrying Brack’s gear on top of his. Brack did not object.

“Do you know why I’m not objecting, Cob?”

“Excuse me?” Cob turned to Brack, a look of playful confusion on his face.

“Usually, I objected to you carrying my things. Do you know why I didn’t say anything this time?”

“What on the earth are you talking about Brack? You’re speaking nonsense.”

“It’s because this is the last time that I’ll ever be with you. And I thought that it would be a nice gesture.”

Cob stopped walking. The woods around him were dark and dense, hostile. Cob didn’t look at Brack, he was too afraid of what he would see. “Where am I?” When there was no response he sobbed. "I just want to be normal again.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Turn around!”

It was Batzorig. He was pointing his terrible blade at Cob’s heart as the forest burned around him. His eyes were black, void of any emotion Cob could understand. “This world isn’t yours anymore. It will be fun to burn it to the ground.”

Cob almost got to him before the blade cut his arm off. Then it cut off his legs, and then sliced out his heart, then his head.

**********

Cob opened his eyes to a brightly lit room that smelt of sawdust and fresh milk. The door was opened to a sunny day. Green grass and blue sky and snowless trees. Cob got out of his bed and took some deep stretches. His body felt refreshed and healthy. He walked outside and looked around. It was a nice place. A typical logger’s cabin with a small shed attached, surrounded by a comfortable perimeter of forest. Baetha was cutting logs next to a massive wood stack as Cob approached.

“You’re up!” Baetha smiled at Cob for a moment and went back to chopping.

“Should I ask how long I was asleep?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, it was one hell of one. I feel like a new man. Like I could do anything.”

Baetha grinned and threw down his axe. “Let me show you around.”