For those of you who thought this was going to be a pretty story, you’re about to witness a night to remember. As soon as we see through the mist we cannot unsee what we saw. A symbol, a message, or even a Pattern. Truth used to be the foundation of fiction and ancient fiction is the foundation of our present one. Sometimes we realize our eyes have fooled us and something made reality seem a bit prettier than it actually was. Is it the sweet words that penetrate our ears? Or the scent of flowery perfume reaching our nose? What about the influence of desire? Or perhaps the moment she first touches you softly and her hands move slowly over your skin is the moment you dropped your defences and became a prey instead of a predator. Every encounter ends with the same question; wil jou survive?

 There used to be a time when hardness build the foundation of our civilisation while softness gave it color. In this time our legends and myths were shaped. Two world kept carefully apart. Love was a matter of poetry, fighting a matter of heroism. We men knew our place in this world and had no other desire then to be the best in what we were. Through tales of our heroic deeds we spread wisdom amongst those who had no intention to sacrifice all things normal for a live filled with fear and bravery. Those days are gone now, and we hardly remember who we once were. Through denial we build a wall to shape our own reality into a more restricted one, were besides following the crowd no other option seems possible any longer. Those slipping out of it are forgotten, lost, or simply unfound. They constantly fight to survive, like we used to. The last of a noble race fighting against prosecution. The voice of the crowd is loud and multiple, but the voice of nature stands above all. It does not allow pity, the path we chose have consequences we shall have to bear. Sacrifices have to be made. The path of a warrior can be hard, but experiences toughen him. His identity alone makes him a target, meaning that every moment of peace is nothing more than a distraction. A weak spot of our desire for something that lies beyond the limits of our reach. Yet, the desire will always be there, waiting to be tempted to do it’s destructive work. For those of you who haven’t quite gotten it yet, this night will end badly. Nothing good is a guarantee for eternal goodness, we all change and so do experiences. The sun slowly rises above a distant forest as a man awakes alone in an old cabin made out of some rubble. His head feels like it has turned into stone and he can hardly move his body. Something must have happened last night, but he can hardly remember anything of it. His gear! It’s gone! The place where he left his bag and his weapons now painfully reminds him of the definition of emptiness, missing potential. He remembers the girl though, her sweet touch felt better than anything he felt in the last few years. He should have known better. What a way to start, by making a fool of himself. Perhaps we just wasn’t ready for this yet, it’s too late to step back now. Slowly Sativa rises and a nasty headache spreads between his eyes. His vision is still a bit blurry, must have been a strong sedative. Whatever it was, it was more than just alcohol. The cabin doesn’t look like it did yesterday, most of the items were moved away in a rush. He tries to stand up carefully. His legs still feel a bit numb and he looks as if he is just learning how to walk. He barely manages to walk outside before he collapses again. While hours pass our young traveller lies face down in the mud dreaming off a part of his life that is now nothing more than a vague memory, activated by his desire for things beyond his reach. It sounds sad, but don’t we all desire for things beyond our reach? The rich long for a normal live, the popular long for a bit of isolation and the misunderstood long for equals. What we rarely appreciate is what we have now and how far we have come. Even on a trail of dreams and miracles we can still desire for common things. Satisfaction is a lack of insight, just like perfection. There is always more to wish, more to want, more to learn and more to reach. Our young traveler wakes up a second time and the only thing he feels is rage, a strong emotion capable of keeping people up when they are about to fall down. His mind shuts down and instinct takes over, a well formed and shaped version of it. His green eyes scout the environment like a predator. Two deep tracks run into the forest in two ways, which way should he go? There has to be more detail. Tracks run deeper at one side, meaning it had a heavier load. Sounds plausible since she took his gear and some of the stuff from the cabin with her. How much time has passed? Probably at least twelve hours, meaning he has to hurry. In a few seconds he shuts down every process in his body that could waste energy, then he runs off in the direction she must have gone. His physical shape is hardly enough to keep up this pace, but he has no choice. Being in a strange world is one thing, but losing everything he has left is not an option. His hands inspect the pockets of his clothes while he tries to keep up the pace in the same rhythm. His knife is still there, that`s a good thing. Unfortunately not very impressive in a place where practically everyone probably carries a blade for self defence. After almost an hour of running through this dense unknown forest he takes a short break. His increased heartrate made sure the toxins are broken down a bit faster and the effects are slowly decreasing. He needs to take a drink though, his mouth feels dry and lots of body fluid has been lost through transpiration. The young hunter scouts the area for something which holds a lot of moist, digging a well would take too much time now. His focus rests on a young tree with a strain as thick as his wrists. Carefully he bends the young tree until the strain snaps with a cracking sound. With a few quick moves from his knife he carefully strips the bark and remaining twigs off of the tree and snaps it again. The result is a smooth stick which looks similar to the oakwood staff he lost. It’s not much, but a better weapon than a small knife. A small piece of the strain still stands as a reminder of our fallen tree. Sativa cuts a small hole in the middle of it about the size of a thumb. Slowly drops of liquid are transported from the roots upwards, filling the hole in the top of the strain as if it’s a cup. Using a tree like a well in this way is not as efficient as digging one, but it saves a lot of time.After a few minutes he sucks the moisture out of the cup. It’s nut much, but in situations like these every drop can be vital. A man needs a few bottles of water each day. One small zip might seem little, but taking one every hour would probably count up to a few bottles on a daily basis. Strategic thinking can be a life saver on many levels. Within a few minutes he`s on his way again through the dense forest. Hours pass by and not a single trace of civilisation. Wherever he is, things are very different from the world he’s born in and he was a fool to put his trust in the people here without knowing anything of the environment. Environments shape the personality of people and by scouting the lands a man can find out a lot about it’s inhabitants without any necessary interaction. By the time the sun starts fading away he reaches the last trees which mark the border between forest and plains. He decides to spend the night there. Sleeping out in the open can be dangerous when there is nothing to hide from the cold winds. Temperatures can drop radically and it’s easy to catch hypothermia. The best he can do for now is to gather a pile of leafs and bury himself in it. Starting a fire is not an option when there are so many potential enemies, they could spot him from a mile away. While he lies between the leafs shaking his thoughts slowly wander off. Dreams pass by. Not those filled with romance and happiness, but those filled with terror and destruction. Demons that keep haunting the young man as a reminder of what he left behind. “You cannot run from who you truly are”, a deep voice whispers right before he falls over the edge of a cliff into endless darkness.