The remnants of the burnt town seemed unnaturally cold because of all the death that had taken place only weeks earlier. A hungry boy was all that was left in this town of fisherman. His name was Sir Dustin. He was a knight only in title, for he was a coward and fled the battle to prolong his own life instead of others. He did try his best to protect those who were left in the church, but all seemed lost in his eyes. He was shamed by his actions so much that he even tried to take his own life but failed to have the strength to do so. He then curled up on a pew in the church to await whatever fate God had in store for him.<br/><br/>Dustin could hear someone enter the almost untouched church. He grabbed his sword that was on the floor in front of the pew he was laying on. He attempted to play dead until he heard the mysterious man speak. Then he looked up slowly to get a peek at the man's colors he wore to assess if he was truly a friendly. He recognized the colors to be friendly and dropped his sword, making a thump noise on the ground. Looking up at the man, Dustin's dirty, thin face probably seemed pathetic. Groaning instead of speaking, he reached a beaten, bloody hand out towards the stranger. "Help..." He managed to moan a single word before he passed out due to hunger and dehydration.