Awakening comes with a breeze that expects to reach no lung. Trembling hands look for whatever is left, anything, of what was once a body, without even knowing how he still breathes. A vague consciousness returns to him. He finds himself. His hands, in one piece; his legs, aching; his head, agonizing; all, signs of life. The scratches are the worst of it, although the very word cannot illustrate the crimson streaks that filter through his torn up clothes. But Joaquim had expected to wake up in at least three pieces, or not at all. Alive, he thinks, and alive he is.

The serene morning filters through the dead leaves of late summer, which take flight upon his coughing fit. His bones crunch against the contraction, but he manages to sit. Upon trying to lift himself up, a wave of nausea pushes him against the floor. The leaves dance in the wind before his eyes, free and mocking. Memories of the previous night invade his mind.

A flurry of black fur and yellow claws smashed through his window and attacked him. The more he struggled, the more it tore. The creature threw him against the forest floor and his head hit something hard. He remembers gigantic teeth, putrid breath, an unexpected retreat, and knew no more.

He tries not to think about the position he is in. The Silence already preys at the borders of his mind.

Once again he pushes against the sky and the dizziness. Abadosos will not search for him or mourn him; he must return out of his own means. A quick test reveals, like his memories, the lack of a bite. There is no explanation for how he is alive.

Another wave of memories razes his mind, one that reveals cutting wood and collapsing rooms. It occurs to him that he has left his house abandoned for the night. In what state will he find it? The need to return attacks him once more, but his body whines with every movement. Even when he manages to lean against a tree, the floor shatters like a mosaic before his very eyes.

But he knows his surroundings; it is the route to his favourite clearing, where wood smells sweet and cuts like butter. He knows how to return. Although he loses last night's dinner to the bushes, he straightens up enough to stumble home.

The sun rests high in the sky when the trees give way, but the village projects an unsettling chill. He tries to call for help, but nobody listens; or maybe, his voice is lost in his throat. The world spins around him; he cannot be sure anymore.

"Mikael!" the sound crawls from his mouth. "Remei!"

The absence of trees implies the absence of support, and so his head defeats him. He falls mere steps before reaching the main road.

"Zarif!" he calls once more before sunlight is stolen from before his eyes.