The forest was large and lush. Every turn brought countless trees, bushes, and plant-life of all kinds in sight. A chill was heavy in the air, piercing right into the bones. No matter how hard one would clutch their coats to themselves, it would cut through it like a hot knife through butter. Snow at least had enough grace not to start falling, and sentencing any unlucky wanderer to certain death.

"Damn," Morgan muttered as he wrapped himself, full regalia of his strange bird-like outfit, with a blanket that looked more like a section of an old burlap sac. His fire was long since dead, mere embers mocking him with illusions of warmth. His sword clacked against the ground whenever he shook from the freezing air. He reached out for his small sac, untying the tight rope that prevented his supplies from falling. Only a small chunk of old cheese and a piece of jerky that he couldn't tell how long was in there remained. He needed to find someway to get food.

"Maybe I can get a job in the next town for a little bit," he thought to himself, laying against the ground and resting his eyes. "At least through the winter."

Morgan had trouble remembering a lot of his life, but he was having even more trouble recalling how long he was wandering. The thickening stubble on his face itched his face, and more people were referring to him as 'old man' than he'd like. He hoped that it was just his voice. He really did.

"Gods... what if I'm too late?"

The village was small and quaint, by every definition of the word. Seven medium-sized houses wrapped around a circular path that had only one path going through it, crossing the north and south sides of the 'town'. The villagers all went about their days gathering wood, smithing tools, or bringing back the harvest. The only other notable aspect of the village was the shockingly large inn a few feet down the south road, easily within walking distance. The building was large and well maintained for such a tiny settlement, but its business remained consistently well off.

"Maybe that place will work?" Morgan thought as he looked at the content villagers from a nearby hill. He couldn't deny his body anymore. He was falling apart. Physical exhaustion and malnutrition were daily struggles that he could not ignore any longer. He'd get himself killed if he kept up the way he lived.

The dirt road he walked on felt like sand under his boots. The weight of his self grew heavier with every step, knowing that it was close to salvation. His head was cloudier every second. He knew that the moment would come. He reached his breaking point.

The fall was quick and painless. In no time at all, he was face first in the dirt as a group of villagers surrounded him, trying to get his attention before unconsciousness took hold.

"Hello?" a young voice asked, consumed in darkness.

There was nothing around him. Only pure, all encompassing black. Every sound was warped and alien. He couldn't remember a thing, only that the shifting dark around him was sickening, wrong. It felt like he was trapped in oil, getting into his nostrils and mouth. Every lick of the sludge on his flesh made him want to vomit.

"Wait..." he thought. He just heard a voice.

"Hello!?" he called out desperately, his limbs locked in place by the gelatinous evil. "Please, I can hear you!"

His voice felt locked in just as much as his limbs. The thick sea flooding his throat, choking the life from him. His lungs felt full to burst, drowning in that unspeakable horror of a substance. His head felt like a hammer smashed into it, his skull shifting with every motion of the sea. His brain melted into it. Every thought became harder to make.

"You need to keep your mouth closed," the young voice finally answered back. It sounded as though it knew what it was talking about, so Morgan followed the advice and closed his mouth. It eased the headache a small amount, but he was too late by then. "We'll talk tomorrow night then. You won't be able to communicate now."

"W-Wait!" he called out, letting more oil into his mouth. The choking came back, pulling him down into the dark waters as he clutched his throat. He felt his face go cold as he was deprived of air. His arms looked in vain for anything he could grip onto, and slowed down as the last bit of energy he had was expended.

He was left in that dark ocean, sinking further into its depths.

Morgan shot up with a scream, his body coated in sweat. His chest nearly burst as he gasped for air. A violent pounding in his chest told him that he was at least still alive, which he was thankful for. A chill went up his spine, his armor off and flesh exposed. Morgan wrapped his arms around himself as he inspected the small room he rested in. It had a window that allowed for the sun to bath him in its light, warming him up instantly. He heard heavy footsteps from beneath him, telling him he was on the second floor of... where ever he was.

"Where am I?" he asked aloud, scanning the room with his eyes. A few hung paintings of small forests and rivers covered the wall opposite him, intersecting a large wardrobe and a dresser beside it. He looked around and saw that the wood used for the room was particularly exquisite. It all shined like it was brand new mahogany. His head snapped around as he remembered one important detail.

"Where the hell are my clothes?"

Getting to his feet was harder than he wanted, his bones creaking and muscles protesting with every movement. His legs felt like pure gelatine as he clutched an end table next to the bed he laid on. He shambled his way to the door, grabbing hold of the knob and pulling it for dear life.

"Locked."

The footsteps beneath him grew louder. Morgan tried to find a hiding spot, his eyes drifting towards the dresser, the cabinet, under the bed, even out the window. However, his legs betrayed him, sending him to the floor with a painful crash.

"Hello?" he heard a voice call out to him, lighter than he expected. A knock came from the door as Morgan fought to get back on his feet. "Are you okay, mister?"

His muscles felt destroyed, twisting wrong with every attempt to move. It was like he was controlling someone else's limbs while they fought back. His breathing became wild and hard to manage, strangling him of oxygen. He almost felt himself black out again before the door slid open, revealing a young woman holding a bowl of soup.

"By the Gods!" she cried as she placed the soup on the table next to the bed. As soon as that was done, her hands flew to Morgan, lifting him up and sitting him up on the mattress. Morgan saw the dark red of her hair, almost maroon. It was pulled into a wild ponytail, almost like a bushel of hair. Her face was young and pretty, not a blemish to be seen. Her eyes glowed like jewels as they scowled at Morgan, who felt insecure about his ravaged body, littered with scars.

"I have no idea what you were thinking," her voice was sweet, yet commanding and confident, "trying to get out of bed when you've been out a week."

"A-A week!?" Morgan nearly shouted, his throat like sandpaper. He clutched his windpipe as a coughing fit took hold of him. That same chill hit him once again.

The woman handed him a handkerchief to cough into, which he accepted gladly. Once he was done, the woman took a spoonful of the enticing smelling soup and hovered it in front of Morgan.

"What are you—?" Morgan tried to ask.

"You haven't eaten or drank anything for a while," she explained, keeping the spoon in front of him. "We had to put you in a tub of water just to hydrate you in time. Not only that, but you've been out for awhile, so you gotta be hungry, right?"

Morgan's stomach betrayed him with an audible growl. His face went red as the pretty woman giggled sweetly. The spoonful of soup stayed near his mouth, awaiting approval. Morgan gave up any resistance and opened his maw, allowing the stranger to feed him. His muscles refused to respond to any signal his brain sent. Now that he finally rested, his body could not become active once more. Another spoon of soup warmed his chest as the boiled broth brought new vigor to his system.

"Surprised to see you so willing," the woman said, giving Morgan another dose of the meal. "Most guys are too prideful to admit they need a lady to feed them when they're sick."

Morgan gave a dry chuckle, still exhausted by it all.

"Not much for talking, are you?" she asked, wiping the sweat from her brow. The silence between them lasted for what seemed like centuries. Neither knew of a way to continue a dialogue that they had not even begun. "Oh, we patched up that weird outfit of yours."

"Do you have it?" Morgan asked suddenly, his head snapping to the woman. His head went light at the sudden movement, his vision blurring into nothing but muddled shapes and colors. A hand shot to his temple, massaging the dull ache that ensued.

"Uncle Roy is putting the final touches on the repairs now," she explained, placing the soup bowl on the end table next to the bed. She placed a hand on Morgan's back as he suffered through another coughing fit, that one sounding painful and gargled. Morgan roughly shook off the woman's hand. Pushing through the pain alone.

"I need to get moving," Morgan growled out as he tried to get to his feet, stumbling over and coughing all the while. His head swam in an ocean that he could not escape from, his vision shifting and changing every few moments.

"You're not in any condition to get off the bed, mister," the woman scolded, pushing Morgan back onto the mattress. His bones felt like glass, and his body burned though he felt frozen. The softness of the mattress enticed Morgan. He needed to rest for awhile... at least until his fever went down. "You'll stay here until you can last more than two days outside. Then you can leave whenever you want."

"Th...Thank you..." Morgan croaked out, all energy leaving him. His eyes felt heavy, muscles like lead. Just a few hours. Mother could wait a few more hours.

The last thing he could hear before drifting off into unconsciousness was a panicked man's voice coming from outside the window.

"THE DEAD ARE HERE!"

A/N 2018

Removed the reference to the Witcher. Really no reason it should be there, beyond the fact I was playing Witcher when I originally wrote the chapter.

Literally, that's it.