"Hello all!" As this omnipotent author scans the foreground, her face takes on a reddish hue as she notices only one sleeping hobo sleeping off to the side. "Ok…fine. Greetings to the sleeping hobo. This is the part in which I inform you that I'm not making any money out of this happy little shindig, and (unfortunately) none of the characters except Kira belong to me. I wish that they did because then I would have a good deal more money than I do, but oh well. That doesn't really matter. So please don't sue me. I'm a student. I have no money. I could give you a gumdrop, but that wouldn't pay your legal bills. If you object to my language skills, mostly since I do not possess any, please tell me what is grammatically correct. My second language is German, which I will be sure to lapse into as much as possible. Please read this and review it. (Heavy emphasis on that "review" word.) If you like it, then that's great. Make sure to tell me why. If you hate it, fine, just be prepared to back it up. There have to be more people reading this than one hobo.

"Quote" -- that is an example of a spoken quotation

'Quote' -- that is an example of a spoken quotation in a flashback

Quote -- that is an example of someone's mind verbalizing their thoughts or just because I want it there. Hey people, it's called artistic license.

I thought that I'd cried

I thought my tears were gone

Why did you have to walk in like this

Maybe I was all right this way

Alone

The truth is that I'm always alone

~Selah 1994~

A flash of color; a red-orange hue penetrates his eyelids after the long sleep…

"Ughnn…"

Fantastic, time to pay for my various atrocities, here in the afterlife. He searched his senses to find the origin of the groan currently filling his ears. His eyes didn't want to open, and he wasn't about to press them. Besides, he really didn't want to know what this place looked like. He never thought that hell would include what seemed to feel like flannel sheets and a feather mattress, though. The smell of this place was a distinctly pungent citrus like it was immaculately clean, but there was a feeling of slight claustrophobia about it. Warmth radiated from all sides but seemed to have its origin beyond the foot of the bed. Yes, it must be a bed. Rock definitely isn't this soft. He finally identified the groan as coming from his own mouth and, wonder of wonders, it stopped when he shut it. It was really too bad he wouldn't be able to go back to the temple that he had frequented in his youth simply to inform the goddess's believers that the nine hells are warm. His current observations left him picturing an eternal sauna. Frankly, he would have much preferred the snow-covered plains that they were prophesied to be.

Having had just about as much fun as he was going to have examining his surroundings sans* eyes, he turned his attention to his physical state. I'm still hurt…I didn't think that damnation could possibly be that cruel. The soft throbbing of the blood in his veins gave the infirm man an extremely good idea of the cadence of his heart. There was a pain in his chest that was dulled as if with schlafenbaum** but the pain in his head didn't seem to have enjoyed the same effect. Not that I don't deserve this fate.

A sharply in-drawn breath, "Goddess mine! You moved! Are you finally awake?"

The voice pierced the silence like a saber slash. Female, his mind mused. Definitely female…good gracious…does she have to shriek so? What was she doing here in hell? Baka! If there's a woman here, then it obviously isn't hell, which means that I'm obviously not dead. His mind rebelled against that last statement, as he wondered how he could have possibly survived. He remembered the injury that he had sustained. The pain was certainly still fresh in his mind, and he remembered dragging himself away. There was a forest…and then…nothing. He opened his mouth to say something, preferably something intelligent or witty, but his tongue seemed sluggish.

"Just take it slowly. You're doing just fine. Don't bother talking if you don't think that you can manage it, it's been quite some time since you've said anything."

Her voice had changed from a youthful tone of surprise to a more mature sounding concern. There was clear worry in that voice, and he was sure that she couldn't be faking it. As for the woman, all that he could tell was that she was occupying the standing room beside the right side of his bed. Time to see my jailer, I suppose. And with that, he opened his eyes. He immediately regretted the action, shutting them tightly to avoid the piercing light of the room.

The woman scolded him as if she were speaking to a tiny child who had been caught in the act of doing some unspeakable wrong. "Well that wasn't particularly brilliant, was it? If I was waking up for the first time after five weeks, I certainly wouldn't be in any hurry to open my eyes." She continued in a calmer voice. "It isn't as if you can't wait a bit longer, at least until I dim the lighting, anyway."

"No…" he said. His voice was raspy and gravelly, but it still retained a hint of the deep tones that it possessed. He continued speaking slowly, carefully forming each thought before he said it. "Better, I think, if I just get used to the idea now. It won't hurt for long, anyway." So maybe he lied, still, he was a good liar. She was probably convinced, anyway…

"I don't think that I've heard such an idiotic notion in the last decade!" she said. It was clear that she was about to launch into a tirade.

…or not.

He was not the sort of man who was incredibly confrontational. He was also not known for losing his temper, but he had had just about enough of this nonsense. He took a deep breath to give this know-it-all the talking too that she so richly deserved, but a searing pain ripped across his chest. He tried to open up his mouth to shout or scream but found himself gaping soundlessly at the pain. As the sharpness of the pain faded into a dull ache, he became aware of the woman scurrying around the room. She was apparently looking for something. If his chest hadn't hurt so badly, he would have laughed at the litany of curses that she was levying under her breath about men and their inability to be good patients.

"There…I guess that I shouldn't have to tell you that this will hurt," she said with a hint of irritability in her voice. "Why is it that the idiot who drags himself in here with a sword point in his chest doesn't seem to grasp the concept that his sutures may not be at a point where he should be removing them, I don't care if he is only breathing. Of all the…"

He felt something warm and wet across his chest and then his world erupted into a stinging agony that seemed to go on forever. He saw only red as he tried to find some respite. Gradually, his awareness of the pain floated away. His vision turned to black. He couldn't even hear the strange woman anymore.

Mercifully, unconsciousness claimed its victim once more, and Folken slept.

*Latin for without use of

**a root used in primitive Fanalian healing practices something like an opiate (the word is German, literally meaning sleeping tree)