Death After Death

As soaking wet and in pain as Simon was, he still didn’t just stumble through the next exit blind. Instead, he stood at the threshold and looked for some hint as to what might await him next for several minutes. There was nothing that stood out to him as dangerous, though. It was an idyllic scene full of birdsong, not battle cries, and that made part of him trust it less.

These are in chronological order, not order of difficulty, he reminded himself. “Maybe someone needs some wood chopped,” he said to himself with a chuckle. “Or maybe the orcs just haven’t attacked yet.”

In front of him was a hill, and behind it, a setting sun formed a picture-perfect backdrop that he would have loved to paint if he had any talent. The spacing of the trees indicated that this was an orchard, or perhaps was one in the past, though it wasn’t immediate what fruit they were growing because none was visible. There weren’t even any footprints to indicate men or monsters.

So, after hesitating for so long, Simon walked into the warm, balmy temperatures of what felt like a summer evening. Then, he staggered up the hill, so he could get a better view before he tried to engage in major surgery and rip this damn arrow out.

Along the way, he thought about picking up deadwood to build a small fire. It would be dark soon, and that would be the smart thing to do. He didn’t, though, because he feared that if he bent down, he might not rise again; every movement hurt, and the only reason he plodded forward was stubbornness. Every step to the top was one closer to making sure that no one would surprise him when he was writhing in pain in a few minutes.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he grumbled to himself as he limped, willing the imaginary laugh track to play in his head. The line was cliché but entirely justified in his case.

When Simon reached the crest of the hill, the sunset had gone gray, but he could see a verdant landscape filling the valley he was in. In the distance, the mountains were sharp and jagged, indicating to him that he was probably in the Kingdom of Chiara, though he supposed he could also be somewhere else he’d yet to see. That put him in the territory of high mountains, werewolves, and dangerous dinner parties, though he didn’t know too much else about it beyond the cheerful little farmstead at the foot of his hill.

“Maybe I’ll take it easy for the rest of this life,” he said to himself as he got down on his knees next to the tree and looked at the last dying rays of the setting sun. “It’s a big blank spot on my map. Maybe I’ll just relax here and fill it in for a while.”

It was a nice dream, but mostly, what Simon was doing was steeling himself for what he needed to do next, which was going to hurt like hell. He reached behind him with his left hand and tried to force the arrow all the way through so he could pull it out the other side. The jolt of pain that ran through him in that moment was awful.