A small boy trudges through the forest, coughing heavily. He can't be any older than three, maybe even four years old. Thick saliva and mucus hangs from his chin, which doesn't do much to make him look any better. His figure is unnaturally thin, and bruises and cuts and gnarly gashes cover it. His lips are chapped and his body shakes relentlessly. Fear and paranoia plagues him, eating him from the inside out, and it only gets worse with every step he takes. Yet, he continues walking. Why? He doesn't exactly know for sure. All he knows is that there's a dim light shining his path, and as he forces himself to go on, it gets brighter, and the pain becomes number. That's all he needs - for his suffering to end.

Marshall walked down the hallway, emitting creaks from the wooden floor. He looked down at the frightened animal with tender eyes, holding it with an equally caring touch. His cat trotted at his heels, following him all the way upstairs to the bathroom.

The teenager set the nearly passed out bat on the edge of the sink. A mirror reflects his image, which isn't a surprise to him. Good, he hasn't lost enough sense to the point where he'll freak at his own reflection. He cracks a smile, remembering how his father would sometimes lecture him at times on how he should study more often, or else he may just forget everything. Of course, it was just a playful over-exaggeration, and soon his father's expectations subsided, but still, it was a fun little thing he liked to remember. They had quite the good relationship.

He began to rummage through the cabinet, pulling out bandages and rolls of gauze and disinfectants and so on. He tended to get himself hurt quite often, so he always made the priority of being stocked up on medical supplies for his well being. You never know what could possibly happen.

Marshall then grabbed a towel from the rack and dampened it with cold water. He put his hand on the small bat, seeing if it'd flinch at his touch. It barely moved. Letting out a small sigh, he got to work, cleaning at its wounds and fur, eventually having to wring out the towel and dampen it again to wash out the blood. "We're gonna get you patched up and fed and all that good stuff soon." he mumbled, more to himself than the bat. He doubted it could understand what he said anyway.

He continued to clean the creature until it was time to apply the disinfectant and gauze. He dreaded this; the last time Schwabelle had gotten hurt, she'd hiss and scratch at him if he even try to apply the disinfectant. But, much to his surprise, it only flinched when he put the stinging substance on its cuts. He wasn't going to complain though. Soon, it was all cleaned up, and all that was left to put the gauze. With a few quick wraps, it was around its body. Its paws, feet, face, ears, wings, and a few other areas were still left exposed. Tufts of fur stuck out from in between the wraps. "There, that wasn't so bad. If only Schwabelle was just as calm as you." he whispered over to it. Unless he was seeing things, he could of sworn the little bat … smiled.

He smiled back either way it turned out to be.

He picked up the weak animal and cradled it in his hands. He made his way back down to the kitchen and swung open the fridge once he got there. "So … what do bats eat again?" He began to ponder over that. Didn't different bats eat different things? Maybe it was a fruit bat, he hoped; he was notgoing out in this weather in search for food. He looked down at that bat. Its ears drooped and it looked so tired.

Okay, maybe he would, but Glob dammit, he wasn't going to like it.

He reached into the fridge and pulled out a banana. He unpeeled and then set it down onto the counter along with the bat. When it didn't begin eating, he prodded gently at it with his finger right behind the ear. "C'mon, just eat." He tore off the top of the banana, squishing it slightly in the process, and put it to the animal's mouth. The bat opened its eyes, its ear flicking. It didn't eat.

Marshall sighed. He put the food to the side and wiped away carefully at the bat's mouth. "Let's try something else." He went back into the fridge and took out his last apple. Once again he put it to the bat's mouth. Just as before, it opened its eyes, flicked its ears, and finally began to eat.

Well, eat wasn't the right word. For this situation, viciously biting into it as if it were your worst enemy would be a better way to describe it. But, the strangest thing was that with one bite, the animal was full, and all color was drained from the fruit.

Now, he wasn't sure if to be amused or terrified or just simply weirded out for a moment only to shrug it off with a slightly awkward laugh and then go about the rest of his night without a single thought of it.

He went with the latter, seeing how even if it was strange, anything would be the norm of the land he lived it. Even the normal, which would then be considered strange in the type of land he inhabited, would then become the norm. It was just the way things was. Anything went without a single question.

"You still hungry, girl?" he asked, running his finger around one of the bat's ears, eliciting a purr from it. But, it didn't show any indication of still being hungry. So, he simply smiled and picked the bat up, making sure to hold it close to his chest. Marshall walked out of the kitchen and pulled himself up the ladder with his one arm. Once on the second floor he walked down the hallway and made his way out of the main body of the tree house, going over a bridge and into his little quarters which was his bedroom.

Scattered all over the room were multiple pens that had long ran out of ink and pencils too short to write with. Multiple trash bins were filled to the brim with crumpled up pieces of paper, some filled out, others almost completely blank save for a word or two. A shabby recorder was left out on his writing desk, and besides it was what he called his Final Notebook. Every song that he decided was to his liking was copied neatly into the leather cover journal, along with a music sheet at the end of each section. To the other side of the room a drawer was placed, filled with little trinkets his father would give him throughout the years, all of which he treasured. Even if his father could be considered a bit of a 'pansy' and 'uptight', he still was all what Marshall could ask for as a guardian. He knew what was best, and as the human entered his early adulthood years or late teenage years, he recognized that. He was stubborn and narrow minded and thick headed at times, but he definitely was not a complete idiot.

Okay, sometimes he was. But, the point still stands.

Marshall Lee's bed was covered with fine fabrics and thick furs, and besides him was his dresser. He wasn't very neat, so some of the drawers of his dresser were left open, clothes hanging out. He'd always say one day he'd organize the room, but that day never came.

On his dresser were weapons and maps piled up from across the land, some being he doesn't know how many centuries old. Some of the languages the scrolls and maps were written out in he couldn't even recognize of something from before the Mushroom War. He'd take them to his father, but, alas, there'd be no luck, not even then. One day, one day he'd figure them out. But, like with his bedroom situation, it seemed like that'd day would never come.

Without a thought, Marshall swept his hand across the top of his dresser, pushing weapons off with a loud clatter. "There we go." He grabbed one of the thick furs from his bed and laid it out, only to cover it with one of the silk sheets he was gifted with. After setting the bat down, he wrapped it in another fur, making sure it was cozy and comfortable. "Night, girl." And, with that, the human simply climbed into his bed and dozed off, just like that.

And so, it seemed like everything was easy. He'd get up in the morning, tend to the bat, get dressed, and would hang around his home, keeping an eye on the animal.

Only problem was, he wouldn't wake up that morning.