Crickets and insects sang their songs, welcoming the coming night as dusk settled over the densely wooded forest. Branches rubbed together in the breeze, croaking an accompaniment to the song of the critters. Through all of this, a lone figure sat, listening in silence. He was relaxed for the first time in quite a while. It was unusual that he would find himself without danger to face, without the tension of worrying about his condition.<br/><br/>...which was why he knew this was a dream.<br/><br/>He held on to the dream for as long as possible, but as was always the case, as soon as he realized he was dreaming, consciousness began to return to him. He woke slowly, reluctantly, to find that nothing had changed or improved about his situation. He was still alone in the desolate landscape, far from civilization. There was still no water or food to be found, and he was still lying prone, his blood oozing from many wounds. As he lay there, delirious and weak, he watched as his blood seeped into the sand, creating a black stain.<br/><br/>His face, normally colored with a grin, was swollen and bruised. Eyes that so often sparkled with humor and intelligence were dim, unfocused, swollen nearly closed. He spat a bit of blood from his mouth, then sagged into the sand, wishing death would finally claim him.<br/><br/>One hand still clutched the scroll, unwilling to let it go, even as he began to fade from this life. He'd fought so hard, for so long... he couldn't let it go just as he'd finally found it.