His vision was blurred. Deformed and disjointed; all the objects around him were blended into colors, creating a meld of vomit contour that aggravated his throat and unsettled his stomach. Was he drunk? It was always a possibility. He was known to indulge every so often when an appropriate occasion arose. It was in his blood, after all. He came from a long line of ignorant, pathetic, drunken bastards who didn't give a shit about anyone when they were drinking, which was always, so he was always ignored as a child. But why was he remembering this now? And where was he? His thoughts were fluid enough...which was different from his usual hangovers. But then he heard a voice.

"Hey...are you ok?"

At this point, if he were drunk, he would think it was God calling him. But he didn't think it was God, just an unrecognizable voice, inviting him to conversation for no particular reason. Am I ok? Do I look ok? Then again, he didn't know what he looked like at that moment. For all he knew, he could have an enormous smile plastered on his face. Though that would be slightly eerie considering the circumstances. He blinked. Once. Twice. Trying feebly to rid himself of the blurriness, though to no avail. Blurriness remained, and the burning question in his mind, "What the hell is going on?" Grew greater and greater with each second passing.

"Blink if you can hear me."

Convulsively, he blinked.

"Ok, you can understand me."

Hardly, he thought. The words were coherent and yet he was hardly processing him. There was a need for something; his body was pestering him for something. What was it now? Sleep? Oxygen? What a demanding life he led. But this time it was something queer; something he didn't feel the need for very often. And apparently the need was so great at that particular moment that he felt the need to vocalize his longings.

"...H...hungry..."

"Hungry? You're hungry?" The voice inquired. "Stay with me, I'll see if I have some food."

There were sounds of rummaging; metal clinking against metal, wood grating against wood, cloth rubbing against cloth. He could see the outline of a vibrant orange object that stung his eyes and two peach-colored lines scouring within it. The sounds persisted for an immeasurable amount of time, until finally the voice spoke up once more, one of the peach blurs extending a mass of violet in his direction.

"It's a berry," The voice explained. "It should help."

He hesitated. How did he know that was a berry? It could be colorful rat poison and he wouldn't be the wiser. Giving no response to it was the best course of action.

"Please, eat some," The voice pleaded. "It's completely fine, look," It was like a father coaxing his 8 month year old son to eat his baby food. The owner of the voice tore a chunk from the fruit, causing liquid to spew out of it in purple dots and lines. However, the piece that was removed elevated to what appeared to be a mouth. It entered and chewing followed not long after. He knew it was chewing because of the noise; the visual was hardly complimentary.

Convinced, he submissively took a meager bite out of the berry. Immediately, a rush of delicious liquid flowed onto his tongue, encompassing it in a warm blanket of flavor. Before he knew it, he was ripping the berry out of the voice's hands and devouring it like a ravenous dog.

After the fruit had been eaten, he clenched his eyes. And when he opened them, he could see his feet. Not blurred or contorted, just feet. Blinking his cerulean orbs slowly, he looked past his disheveled brunette bangs and up into compassionate hazel eyes belonging to the peach figure he'd seen before. The man was a farmer. He could tell because of the accustomed garb; overalls with a white shirt and a complimenting red handkerchief hanging limply off his slightly lanky body...though said farmer had a defining backwards cap with gravity-defying chestnut hair that stood out from the age-old attire. A rucksack lay at the farmer's feet; the orange...thing...that the reviving berry had emerged from.

"You feel ok?" The farmer inquired.

"I feel...fine..." He answered, slightly dazed.

"What's your name?"

"My name? Cliff..."

"Nice to meet you, Cliff."

The farmer didn't offer his name, apparently because Cliff hadn't asked for it, which was completely fine with the vagabond at that moment.

"How'd I get here?" Cliff inquired.

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"I don't remember anything...what is this place?"

"Rosebud Village."

Cliff clenched his eyes closed as recollections came in a flurry of images and sounds through his subconscious. "That's right...I came here on a boat from Moondrop Village..."

The farmer stood and offered his hand, which Cliff accepted to stand as well.

"Whereabouts...am I...in Rosebud Village?" Cliff asked.

"You're at my farm; Okera. I found you passed out this morning in my front lawn."

Suddenly, Cliff's face of confusion snapped into one of panic. "Cain? Cain, where's Cain?"

"Cain?" The farmer inquired.

"Cain! My--my bird, Cain, where is he?"

"He's right here," The farmer indicated.

Cliff found himself leaning up against a dog house, his hawk companion perched on the arch of the roof. The refined bird was ruffling his darkened feathers, the sun glinting off of his shining beak. There was a spark in his eye that signified he'd been fed recently.

"Did you...give Cain food too?"

"I had an extra fish from the other night...If I'd seen you before him, you would've had it, but your...Cain lucked out." The farmer grinned.

"...Thank you for your kindness..." Cliff murmured. "I should probably get out of your hair."

"You're no trouble." The farmer assured.

"No, I should really get going..."

"Well, if you're sure. Just know that you're welcome here if you ever need some more food."

Cliff paused, intrigued. "What's your name?" He inquired.

"Jack."

"Jack?" He paused. "It's...nice to meet you, Jack."

And with that he exited the farm.