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Description
He had walked as far as he could go before needing sleep, but still no change around him. The last ten minutes of walking had only been possible due to Barran’s stubborness. He had no warning when he suddenly crashed into a wall. Cursing, he tried to stop his nose from bleeding, and felt his way around the wall with one hand. He found he had stumbled upon a house. Entering the house, he found that it had both light and warmth, but somehow, none of it spilled out. Inside, he found a large iron pot filled with stew. Cautiously, he scanned the one-room building. There was little in the way of furnishing, only a single table with a chair and a bed in one of the corners. On the table stood a single bowl, a spoon and a pitcher of water. He went over to the stew and tasted it. It tasted strange, but wasn’t too bad. Judging from the size of the pot, whoever lived here would probably not notice if he had a little, so he sat down and started to eat. He soon became very drowsy, and managed to get into the bed before falling asleep.

He sat up in bed. His vision was hazy, and he realized that he was dreaming. He got out of bed, and looked around. It was his old home, the one he had left nearly a year ago, fleeing for his life. He saw his wife lying lifeless on the floor, where he last had seen her, his children were nowhere to be seen, but he knew that they too were lying nearby. Suppressing the emotions he felt rising inside, he hasted out. Right into the waiting Angarrans, just like it had been the last time. The time it happened, he corrected himself. His grip on reality was weakening. Soon he would no longer know it was a dream. He turned and ran towards the stable, his mind screaming that he was making the same mistake as last time. “The only time!” Barran yelled. When he arrived at the stable, he saw Streaker lying dead from exhaustion in his booth. “NO!” he screamed. He heard the shouts from outside, from the men he knew was about to torch the stable. He was no longer aware that he was dreaming, this was real. Covering himself with a large blanket, he ran out the back door. And felt a terrible pain in his left side. Falling to his knees, he saw the quarrel stuck in his abdomen. Then it all went black.

He woke up in the bed, just as an old man poked him in the side with a stick. Wait, not an old man, the old man. From the road. “Where have you brought me?” he asked. “To my home. I saved your life,” the old man said, and then started laughing. “What’s so funny about that?” Barran hissed. “Nothing, except where you ended up. You may keep my house as long as you like, I do not need it anymore.” the old man said and left. Barran tried to follow him, but he vanished as soon as he entered the darkness. All Barran could hear, was his laughter fading away.

Description
He had walked as far as he could go before needing sleep, but still no change around him. The last ten minutes of walking had only been possible due to Barran’s stubborness. He had no warning when he suddenly crashed into a wall. Cursing, he tried to stop his nose from bleeding, and felt his way around the wall with one hand. He found he had stumbled upon a house. Entering the house, he found that it had both light and warmth, but somehow, none of it spilled out. Inside, he found a large iron pot filled with stew. Cautiously, he scanned the one-room building. There was little in the way of furnishing, only a single table with a chair and a bed in one of the corners. On the table stood a single bowl, a spoon and a pitcher of water. He went over to the stew and tasted it. It tasted strange, but wasn’t too bad. Judging from the size of the pot, whoever lived here would probably not notice if he had a little, so he sat down and started to eat. He soon became very drowsy, and managed to get into the bed before falling asleep.

He sat up in bed. His vision was hazy, and he realized that he was dreaming. He got out of bed, and looked around. It was his old home, the one he had left nearly a year ago, fleeing for his life. He saw his wife lying lifeless on the floor, where he last had seen her, his children were nowhere to be seen, but he knew that they too were lying nearby. Suppressing the emotions he felt rising inside, he hasted out. Right into the waiting Angarrans, just like it had been the last time. The time it happened, he corrected himself. His grip on reality was weakening. Soon he would no longer know it was a dream. He turned and ran towards the stable, his mind screaming that he was making the same mistake as last time. “The only time!” Barran yelled. When he arrived at the stable, he saw Streaker lying dead from exhaustion in his booth. “NO!” he screamed. He heard the shouts from outside, from the men he knew was about to torch the stable. He was no longer aware that he was dreaming, this was real. Covering himself with a large blanket, he ran out the back door. And felt a terrible pain in his left side. Falling to his knees, he saw the quarrel stuck in his abdomen. Then it all went black.

He woke up in the bed, just as an old man poked him in the side with a stick. Wait, not an old man, the old man. From the road. “Where have you brought me?” he asked. “To my home. I saved your life,” the old man said, and then started laughing. “What’s so funny about that?” Barran hissed. “Nothing, except where you ended up. You may keep my house as long as you like, I do not need it anymore.” the old man said and left. Barran tried to follow him, but he vanished as soon as he entered the darkness. All Barran could hear, was his laughter fading away.