I head home and into my foyer, and note that my furnace does not have a book on it. Suddenly I feel a strong urge to open the book. I bring it out from my pocket. Somehow I feel excited.
We must ask Jonas's cousin if he knows how to enchant armor.
Enchantment could make your new armor invaluable.
I'll be sure to wake you up early so we can collect bones, maybe even hunt some Skeletons. We only have four days, so we must act fast.
I'll see you in your dreams.
I can't help shake the feeling that this book is trying to manipulate me. I wish there was some way to get rid of it... but it seems to be able to follow me wherever I go, so disposing of it could be difficult.
Maybe I'm being insensitive. The book came to me as a friend, asking for my friendship, after thousands of years of isolation. It's doing the best to be nice but doesn't have much social experience, so it may just not know any better.
But this isn't a person. It isn't even a monster. It's a book. Books aren't supposed to have a mind of their own; their contents are interpreted by the reader. It's simply unnatural for a book to be self-aware, let alone read my mind.
There's no use arguing with myself over some book. It's probably here to stay, so I might as well make good use of whatever may come out of it, whether it be some sort of friendship or just some stupid looking armor.
I walk up the stairs to my bedroom, nervously expecting another nightmare but helpless on how to avoid it. As I crawl into bed, I realize just how tired I really am. Sleep comes over me quickly.
It's a sunny afternoon. The grass is a long, Summery golden brown. Insects chirp loudly, and there is the distinctive smell of some wildfire burning in the distance. There is no civilization in sight, and the only thing moving is the wavering branches of trees and peacefully grazing cows.
The heat of the sun is oppressive, but no matter where I walk or how far there is no way to avoid it besides the occasional rest under a tree.
My hands are bare, my pockets and satchels empty, and my throat parched. I search hopelessly for a place to drink, so desperate that I look carefully for what could possibly be even a tiny puddle of mud. Hours pass.
The sun seems to become hotter and hotter. It begins to feel unbearable, then painful. Suddenly I see flames shoot up from my own body. I scream in agonizing pain, cursing the sun, running from its awful, malicious face. I sprint to underneath a large tree, begging for mercy from this newfound evil force. The flames on my body burn more slowly, but seem to die down. I still feel an oppressive parching heat, from this sun that threatens to hunt me as soon as it spots me, but for now at least I am alive. I must rest now, and wait for nightfall, when it is safe.