Chapter One

He could tell his feet were bleeding now. The worn sock on his right foot had gone from damp, to feathery to whatever feeling it was now and the hole by the side of his heel burned as the hard leather rasped against it. Collapsing to one knee his hand found a smooth, wet rocky outcropping and he let his weight pass onto it through a tired arm. He reached out and grasped a handful of wide grasses growing stubbornly beside the stone and pulled it loose. He recognised the plant and felt the fabric tearing away from his skin, as he padded the boot with the thin, soft, fresh leaves. The sun had risen and set at least a dozen times since he set off but now, when he was so close, his strength was failing him. The darnkess was stalking him again and he was finding it hard to focus on the horizon now, as the sun set once again and the fading light stung his eyes. His lids were heavy and the ground was dryer than his boots, so Grendell sat down heavily, leaning his back against the stone and breathing deep through his nose, his head tilted back to draw in more breath. He didn't want sleep and there just wasn't the time, but he would have to risk it. Just a short nap. Just an hour to gather his strength, and then.. he must be going. ********************************************* The night had passed and it was the morning chorus of small birds which woke him. Grendell cursed under his breath. Too much time. Too much time.. So far to go. Boned creaked and muscles screamed as he rose to his feet. His hands reached out, finding purchase on a large, high stone. The moss felt soft under the cracked skin of his old palm and as his fingers passed through it, he looked down to see the dark green lichen made even darker with his blood. At least, it must be his blood, surely. He couldn't recall who else's blood it could be. It must be his. There was a pounding behind his eyes and as he slowly made his way forwards reaching again to steady himself, he moved a hand to move the lank, greasy hair from his face, as a sharp stab of pain seared through his whole body, making him shudder as his knees seemed to buckle beneath him. Lowering his hand, he felt the warm, dark blood caking his fingertips and as he moved on, the faint moonlight shone against the wet red smears he left behind. The wound had opened up in the night. Not feeling it open was somehow more worrying than the sight of blood. He knew now, he didn't have long. He slowed his advance as the ground was slippy now as he turned right, I to the path of a trickling waterfall which to his eyes, seemed to extend impossibly high above him. It felt cold and hard as he leaned forward into the flow, feeling gently through his matted hair and the the cots of blood pulled at the fine strands and he felt the reddening water pass over the rivulettes of his face and into the shallow pool at his feet. His fingers felt for wounds and here and there, he brushed clumps of what felt like earth and stone from his head, cleaning himself gently, trying not to open any other hidden cuts. The small pool was running clearer now and after washing off his hands, he cupped small gulps of water and brought them to his lips, surprised at his thirst. Sated, he sat on a small cleft of rock and rested his back against the jagged wall and looked into the gulley, following the last streaks of corrupted water snaking its way towards a thin pathway, before falling out of sight. He felt tired again, like his shaking vision had made the world seem off kilter somehow. Leaning over to his side, he loosed a thin, grating retch of vomit onto the ground which was spattered by the waterfalls spray, but refusing to be washed away. After eighty summers, Grendell knew better than to rush around after an injury. He just wished he could remember how he came to be so injured or even how and why he had made it to this place. His memories were always to clear. So vivid and any missing detail unsettled him. He needed to go east. He needed to warn them. A small face appeared in his mind before the blackness took him once again and he fell, collapsing on the ground. Now he was certain. He knew that this time, his wounds wouldn't heal and the tearing skin would fester again and again, leaving him weak and fevered before death took him. Like so many times before..

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