Barrow Fields Vedrai, vedrai!

he could not have explained how he got here.

driven further in what seemed like a haze, a fever bestowed upon him by none other than God. growing restless with the need to spread the word further.

his pace had slowed, but he could not allow it to disappear. his heart hammered at the thought. only to find somebody seemingly all alone. laid wasted in the grasses. a sheep without its flock.

he had come upon something, he felt, but when had that ever stopped him before?

blessed morning, stranger. he hummed softly, tired himself and not nearly as lively as he tended to be.