//------------------------------//
// Part 5 Test 
// Story: Will To Survive 
// by Zephyr Spark 
//------------------------------//

	After several hours of material collecting, trial and plenty of error, he finally crafted mossy armor covering his back, belly, and even his face and laced it with sharpened green gemstones. He had no innate Rarity gift at clothes making, but his persistence and concentration finally paid off; numerous failures finally produced something capable of defending his vulnerable body. Now: a weapon.

Picking a gemstone from his cave stash, he nibbled around the edges. Powdery gem fragments trickled down his throat as he brought the tip to a sharp point. Pausing a moment to inspect his work, he turned the gem around in his hands. He opted to whet the soon to be spearhead with his teeth rather than another gemstone. With gem-crushing teeth, this seemed more optimal than utilizing another gem of similar toughness. Serendipity occurred when he discovered a few red gems he collected would emit an illuminating red glow for thirty seconds when heated by his flames, so he kept the red gemstones sharpened as hand-daggers. Noticing the left portion of his spearhead unbalanced with the right, Spike shifted the edge towards his mouth, shaving the excess portion. 

Finally content with the shape, he carved two notches on the left and right sides of the stone near the angular tips, connecting them across the blade. He placed the blade on a large, flat boulder, serving as his workbench, and then chose a smoothed branch from his pile and web strand and carefully placed them on his table. He ran the web through the stone notches he crafted, fastened the arrowhead to the branch, and tied the strands around the stick in a tight, knot. 

Spike lifted his tool. Despite the long shaft, it fit nicely in his hands, providing a firm grip. Eager to test his creation, Spike jabbed at an empty space, perhaps too impatiently. Nonetheless, the arrowhead remained securely fixed to the branch, remaining resolutely in place. Intrigued, Spike jabbed at the open air in rapid succession. One, two, three, four. The gem tilted slightly to the right, prompting the drake to apply another fastening string. This time, the spear endured his rapid thrusts.

He retrieved more gemstones, branches, and webular strands to replicate his weapon. Before long, he had five more spears standing proudly in the cave, and two small, handheld axes, caused by errors on his part. While shaving a shorter branch, he applied too much pressure and snapped it in half, leaving him with two useless half-sticks. He had two misshapen gemstones, also errors on his part, and stuck them through the half-sticks before binding them with remaining strands. These would be useful for chopping down more branches. If he crafted a belt to hold the axe and spear, then he could keep both hands free when climbing up the trees. With a bit more time, effort, and plenty trial and error, he had two cozy web belts; one on his hip, holding an axe and a red gemstone, and the other on his back, securing the first spear he crafted a few hours ago.

Spike gathered enough moss to make a pillow, blanket, and mattress all at once. Although sloppy in appearance, the mossy bed would doubtlessly be more comfortable than the stony floor. 

Out of habit, He made a mental checklist. Scary Armor: Check, Spears: Check, Axes: Check, Mossy Bed: Check, Gemstones: Check, Impenetrable Fortress: No, Multiple Bases: No, Map: No, Water: No, Water Containers: Not so much, Light: Kinda with the glowing red gem, Stomach Ache: Unfortunately Check, Medicinal Herbs: Don’t really recognize most plants down here, so no. Spike’s hands gripped his aching belly. He guessed drinking unfiltered water finally caught up with him. Water Filtering Device: Next on the List. 

When the sharp cramp diminished to a dull sting, the dragon pondered what in the jungle, or hopefully his immediate materials, could possibly serve as a filtration device. His eyes drifted to his supplies: gemstones, bark (he tried to make a shield with that to little success), branches, rocks and sand on the cave floor, a few webular strands, some cobwebs, and giant leaves. In a flash of inspiration, he realized he had exactly what he needed.

Placing five pieces of dry bark and two giant leaves on the floor, he then lined the bark with stones and puffed a small flame on the wood. Now, he had a campfire. Spike brought a giant shield leaf, cobwebs, and three strands to his work stone and sat down. Carefully, he folded the leaf into a hollow cone and connected its edges with the cobwebs. When he was confident the cone was secured, he pulled some moss from his blanket and using another web strand, fastened it to the bottom of the cone, creating a permeable seal. Then, he retrieved two short sticks, one of which still had a rather long limb extending at the top, both taller than the leaf cone, and a webbed strand. He leaned down to the cone’s funnel top, mentally connecting a line through the circle center, between two nonexistent points. Using his talons, he tentatively poked holes into his leaf where he envisioned those points. Spike gingerly worked the web strand through the holes dividing the circle opening into half-circles, before looping the strand back around and securing a knot of his bucket cone. Taking the branch with a hangnail limb, he moved deeper into the cave to softer soil and plunged the stick into the ground. Once he had penetrated enough dirt, he scooped the soil around the branch’s base, strengthening its hold on the ground. He retrieved the other stick and finding a soft spot beside the previous branch, repeated his process. Taking his cone, he hung it on the hangnail branch, before tying the extension to the other stick with his final strand. The cone was now supported by two branches, and hanging twelve inches above the cave floor.

By this time, his fire greatly diminished. Scooping down, he plucked charcoal from the embers, briefly reflecting how dragon scales resisting burning temperatures facilitated his process, before placing them on a stone until they lost enough heat. He then dumped the cooled charcoal into giant shielded leaf. Once he had a full pile of light gray charcoal, he took the leaf to his cone and slowly poured the charcoal into his cone. The moss plug kept the charcoal inside, prompting Spike to dump another pile. 

Next, he placed clean sand on the leaf and formed a pile of small rocks. He added a layer of sand, then a layer of small rocks, then more sand, and finally, small rocks. The leaf cone retained its shape, not even bulging. The moss plug remained in place, and both the strand and the sticks would not warp. Spike could not help but smile and do a little dance; he successfully crated a filtration device. With this, he could safely drink the pond water he wanted, or at least in theory. Now he had to test it out. Which meant getting water, which meant he needed storage containers. He only had one leaf left, which could be molded into a cup, but considering he used it to carry sand, rocks, and charcoal, he was reluctant to use it. Even if the filter device could sort through the rubble, he did not have any remaining cobwebs to close the cone. Back to foraging.

Working an axe and gemstone knife through his hip belt and a spear on his back, Spike made his way out of the cave. By now, the fire had long burned out and the cave was dark as ever. Spike didn’t really mind. After spending so much time in the dimly lit jungle, his eyes had grown accustomed to the shadows. So, as he reached the edge of the trees, his eyes were keen enough to detect a small circular object resting on the ground. Cautiously, he inspected it. Lime green, and bearing a severed stem, Spike deduced the object was some kind of fruit, but beyond that, he had no idea what it was or even if it existed outside this place, recently named Underworld. Lifting the fruit, he realized the object was roughly the size of his hand. He carefully brought wafts towards his nostrils, only to learn the fruit was odorless. Balling a fist, he rapped the object, learning it had an extremely hard shell. His knuckles were a bit sore.

Spike blinked in consideration before shaking his numb hand, “I think I’ll call you a sore fruit. Cause you hurt my hand.”

He took the fruit’s silence as acceptance of its new name. Spike almost considered how strange his voice sounded after so much silence, before he grasped the fruit in both hands.

Placing an ear beside the shell, he shook it and heard a swishing sound. Spike’s eyes widened. Was there water in this? Taking his sharpened red gem stone from his belt, he applied pressure to the surface. With both hands on the knife, he carved a hole to the center. He turned the fruit over, and liquid came trickling forth from the hole. Green liquid. The drake poked a finger into the liquid and brought his wet finger to his tongue. He promptly spit the revolting taste from his mouth, but the rueful drop lingered in his mouth and sharpened his dull stomachache. Spike made a mental note: sore fruit: not for eating. He emptied the rest of the liquid and stared more closely through the hole.

Inspiration struck and he returned to the cave. Using his knife, he widened the hole until two of his fingers could fit. Using small bits of the absorbing moss on his fingertips, he sponged out the persistent liquid and emptied the sinewy remains, core, and seeds. Finally, the fruit was vacant. If he could wash out the taste in the river, he could craft a canteen for traveling water. Another revelation: the moss was spongy enough to absorb water. For bases, he could construct more filtration devices and utilize moss to store water for the long-term. Then again, Spike realized he had yet to uncover how long the moss could store liquid. For all he knew, the water would drip out as he walked back from the stream. He shrugged, turning to his original idea. With these fruit canteens, he could keep water with him at all times, so he would never have to worry about dehydration. If he found more sore fruits, he could store enough water to sustain long treks and transport water from the river without worrying about leakage. 

Dropping the sore fruit on his worktable, Spike raced back where he found the fruit and searched for another. He shifted through fallen leaves, roots, and all manner of vegetation in his fruitless search. Where were they? There had to be more of these plants growing somewhere, that couldn’t be the only one in all of Underworld. Where had the fruit even come from? He mentally smacked himself. If sore fruit didn’t grow on the ground, then it had to be – he lifted his gaze – in the treetops. Sure enough, there were masses of sour fruit lining the distant branches. Unlike the previous tree he scaled, this one had no thick overgrowing moss to grasp; only smooth, tough bark. There were long webby tendrils leading to the berries branch higher up, and with a little climbing, Spike knew he could reach the strand and hoist himself all the way up. 

He tried to find a foothold in the bark, to little avail. Every time he almost rose a few inches, he lost his grip and fell back down. After twelve failed attempts ending with him falling on the shaft of his spear, Spike angrily stabbed the tree with his gem knife. To his surprise, the knife easily dug deep into the wood. He slid the knife out and noticed the deep gash. His hand or even his foot could fit in such a gash. Another idea, and he raced back to the cave.

Spike returned with two longer and wider red gem daggers in both hands. He rammed his left blade into the base of the tree and the other blade from the corner of the gash, slightly higher. Working his left foot into the left hole and the right into the right, he punctured the tree with his left dagger and lifted his left foot into the new hole, over the first left hole, while firmly digging his blade above to secure his position. Then, he pierced a foothold with his right dagger, placed his foot within the niche, and buried his dagger into the bark. So, the slow process continued. His muscles were already aching from all this walking and climbing mossy trees, but he calmly told them that it had to be done. After a good twenty minutes of climbing, the web line was within his grasp. His right hand was higher than his left, so he withdrew the right blade into his belt to grab the tendril. 

He tugged, testing its strength. The web seemed firmly attached to the branch, but Spike questioned its ability to support his full weight. Then, he had to wonder if he thought this through. And what exactly was his plan with this rope? Was he going to shimmy up it like a monkey on a palm tree? Did he plan to hold the rope and walk up the tree perpendicularly? Either option would require lifting his entire body all at once. Even as a mighty dragon, Spike knew he lacked the physical strength to sustain such an action for another ten or twenty minutes. He was already exhausted and weary from climbing and walking everywhere. Quite frankly, he knew that he wasn’t as strong as other dragons. On the upside, he was probably smarter. How many of them would have thought this through? Thinking of a wingless Garble clawing at the tree angrily, Spike chuckled in spite of himself. Drawing his blade once again, Spike decided to postpone using the tendril until the climb down. The dagger strategy was working anyways; just another fifteen to twenty minutes and he would reach the branch.

So in seventeen minutes, two of which were spent taking a short rest, he scaled all the way to the lowest, but still very distant branch from the forest floor. Pausing a moment to catch his breath, Spike rolled onto the branch, daggers still in hand. He shook his head, reminding himself he had a task. In the middle of the branch, the sore fruits idly swung from the branches of a smaller branch. Rising to his feet, Spike sheathed his daggers and drew his small axe. As he approached the berries, his eyes narrowed in thought. Why were they swaying? They could only do that if there was a breeze. Spike stuck out a hand near the berries. Sure enough, he felt a small gust of air, cooling his sweaty palm. He kept his hand in place before switching to the other. If there was a breeze, then this world had to open up to the surface somehow. There was a way home! He knew it. Unless, the forest was magically producing the breeze like it produced everything else here.

First things first, Spike leaned over, maintaining a firm grip on the tree. With his axe, he cleaved through a branch holding a sore fruit, but failed to catch it before it plummeted to the forest floor. With that falling fruit, Spike gazed down to see how high he was, and nearly had a panic attack. He rolled back onto the branch, steadying his potential hyperventilation and racing heart. Closing his eyes, he finally calmed himself. How exactly was he planning on carrying the sore fruit back down? He needed both hands to use the daggers and his belt was already full. He considered running the fruits through his spear but quickly dismissed the notion. Extra weight was the last thing he needed on this climb. He reflected on the fruit he had found. It must have fallen several feet but he could find no bruise or blemish. If a sore fruit’s outer shell protected it, then perhaps there was no need to carry the fruits. He could just cut them from the branch and harvest them later.

Spike rolled to his stomach and glanced at the end of the tree branch. Plentiful leaves, vegetation, and branches decorated the end. Forget the end, the entire tree was bristling with jade leaves, trembling in the breeze. He should probably collect a few of those leaves as well. First things first. He leaned back over the side to the branch bearing sore fruits and chopped off a dozen or so from their perch. They plummeted below. Content with his work, Spike hoisted himself back onto the branch and placed his slightly blunted axe on his belt. Stretching his arms above his head, Spike readied himself for the long climb down.

Get Out of There, Spike!

Spike stiffened in surprise. Sir Knight’s distant voice reverberated in his ears. His head shifted around, searching for the source of the noise. From his perch, he could only see the outlying, surrounding trees, his cave far below, and the forest litter. He was about to take a breath and call to Sir Knight, when – 

Spike! You fool! Can’t you sense you’re in danger? There’s predator hunting you! She’s hiding somewhere close! There's no time to escape now. Whatever she is, you need to find her before she reaches you.  

Spike’s eyes widened with mounting apprehension. Was something behind him? He turned to the tree trunk. Not a soul in sight. Yet with Sir Knight’s warning of another presence, he now dimly perceived another being somewhere nearby. But his eyes supposedly adapted to the dark could find nothing. He yanked his spear from his belt ready to defend himself – 

No, not there! Behind you! She’s almost on top of you! 

Spike jerked around and desperately thrust his spear at the empty air. There was nothing there. Just leaves, branches, and a hue of green. Still weary, he kept his spear posed while slowly retreating to the web strand. If he could shimmy down that, he could possibly drop safely to the ground. His eyes turned behind, ensuring his steps did not veer –

Don’t take your eyes off her, Spike! You might not see her but she sees you.

His eyes watered in dread. His fist moved to wipe his tears – 

Don’t blink! Don’t close your eyes! That’s all the time she needs.

“Well, what and where is it? There’s nothing here but blasted leaves!” Spike wanted to scream in frustration but his voice was stuck in his throat.

She’s hiding in the leaves somewhere! I can’t see her but I sensed her.

Somewhere? Was he saying he didn’t know where or when this monster would attack? Gritting his teeth, Spike stared at the dense, trembling leaves while slowly retreating to the tendril. It was still so far, and he could not find the creature amidst all these leaves. Wait a second. He narrowed his eyes at the trembling leaves. As those leaves trembled, so did a tall leafy stem. In fact, the leafy stem trembled in perfect synchronization with the leaves. Synchronization so perfect that it looked uncanny. The leafy stem had four skinny legs, a narrow waist, one triangular head with compound spheres breaking out of adjacent angles and finger-like mandibles at the third angle, and two barbed limbs folded in prayer. He now stood face to face with a giant praying mantis, inching itself towards him. How hadn’t he seen it before? Furious with himself, Spike poised his weapon as death approached.

His spear was not long enough to ward of the mantis. Once it was in striking range of his weapon, it would be in striking range of him. And he knew from Twilight’s entomology studies the mantis could strike within ten percent of the time he blinked. If he took his eyes off it to grab the line, it would take him. Even if he grabbed the line without looking, the monster could easily out-speed him. He had a sinking feeling his armor would only hold up so long against that thing’s whirling mandibles. Jumping off the branch was out. A drop from this height, and he was dead. And if he so much as blinked, he was dead.

Remember what you’ve learned!

What he learned? He could barely think with this terror muddling his thoughts. Terror! He knew what to do.

Spike took a step towards the fiend and looked it straight in the eye. The mantis paused, realizing the little one had spot it, but continued inching towards him. Spike opened his mouth to reveal his teeth and snarled, puffed out his chest and standing straight, and ferociously jabbed the spear at the air in between them. The mantis angled its approach but continued approaching. Nothing was working! He nearly panicked. Those unblinking eyes betrayed no hesitation, emotion, or second thought. The mantis was now in striking range. It was over. He almost closed his eyes in defeat.

Survive. For them.

Spike narrowed his eyes in determination. He was down to his last line of defense. Opening his mouth, green flames flickered outwards and enveloped the space between them. This time, the mantis flinched, whether in fear or curiosity Spike could not tell; its mandibles fingered the air, raptorial limbs retracted, antennae quivered, but most importantly its legs moved backwards, putting distance between predator and prey. Spike intensified his flames, while carefully avoiding the branches, leaves, and the mantis. Even when slowly retreating, its eyes never moved from the little drake. This worried him. For all Spike knew, this beast was simply strategizing another approach. He had to send a clear message that bluffed his deadliness.

The flames stopped. The mantis cocked its head, trying to read him. Engaging his quick-thinking Twilight mode, Spike studied the distance between him and the mantis, the air control he would require to sustain a long fire breath, and the consequences of failure. Having estimated all the variables, Spike inhaled deeply. Before he could double-check, the mantis charged. A concentrated burst of fire soured past the mantis’ head mid-lunge, nearly grazing its eyes and antennae before harmlessly disseminating into the open air.

Spike quickly inhaled, bluffing another attack. This time, the mantis scurried to the underside of the branch out of range of his flames, but not of a counter-attack. Now what? That thing could lunge up from the bottom and take him at an angle to avoid his fire breath and his detection. If it had him in it its vice grip, he was finished. Spike gritted his teeth, racking his head for a solution. Soon, he ran out of branch and stood back to the tree trunk. What could he do? How had he let this happen? How had that freak of nature caught him unaware? Why didn’t he see it coming?

Easy answer: it blended into the leaves and approached silently like a shadow. In combination with the darkness and the vegetation, its green body was practically invisible amongst the leaves. Like Big Cow, the mantis’ behavior added to the illusion as it imitated the rhythmic swaying of the leaves. 

It already had him in its sight, but if he could just escape for a moment, he could retreat into the surrounding leaves and use his mossy armor as camouflage. From there, he could think of something. First problem: the mantis, second problem: getting out of its sight for starters; with eyes like that, escape would be nigh impossible. He tried to remember Twilight’s entomology studies, seeking some piece of usable information. Nothing, and he could sense the mantis drawing closer. Wait, mantises can’t see red very well. At least, Spike thought so. He unsheathed one of his red gemstone daggers. If he could illuminate the area in the gem’s red glow, perhaps he could blind the mantis long enough to hide. He had fire breath; use it. Bringing the gem to his mouth, Spike exhaled a fire breath onto the stone illuminating the entire branch from its end to the underside in scarlet red. 

At the epicenter of the shimmering hue, Spike narrowed his eyes under the glare and cautiously made a haste pace to the tree leaves. He turned around mid-run to see the mantis pouncing where he once stood, lashing with reckless abandon. As the light began to dim, Spike sheathed his spear and placed himself on a patch of moss situated on a thick branch, extending from the left. He hid his dagger in the folds of his mossy armor but retained his grip on the blade. 

The light finally died. By the tree trunk, the mantis inspected the area where it last saw him. Its head swiveled to the tree trunk, then directly at him. Heart pounding, Spike forced himself to remain still, not even shifting his eyes. A breeze ruffled his branch. Spike shifted slightly in his perch, imitating the breeze. Mandibles whirled like eager fingers. But the mantis did not approach him. Its head swiveled to another branch further down on the opposite side. Shifting its head from side to side, the mantis took steps forward and moved to the underside of the branch. 

Spike’s eyes darted to the webbed lining. If he could reach that line, he could slide down the tree to his dagger marks, climb down, and retreat to the cave. First, he had to be sure the mantis could not intercept him. Meaning he had to wait until the mantis was far behind him, near the back of the tree before he broke out and ran. Second, he had to climb down very quickly. For all he knew, the mantis could follow him with ease or cut the line, so he had to reach his footholds quickly. He didn’t think the mantis would pursue him all the way to the ground, but he had doubts. There was still the red gemstone; if it came too close he could activate its glow again. But he was hesitant to use it on the way down; the bright light could obscure his vision and make it impossible to see where he was going. He could misstep and fall to the forest floor. He really didn’t want to become a splatter on the ground. Well, he could always – 

Spike’s heart skipped a beat, as the mantis rose from under the bark to his side and now stood inches from him. Unblinking eyes met his green eyes, before looking past him, oblivious of the little drake. Antennae twitched. Spike’s stomach plummeted as he realized a fatal flaw in his plan. He had no idea whether the mantis could find him with its hairline antennae. What if it already found him? What if it was just feigning ignorance to catch him by surprise? Well, he could strike first. At this range, he could roast the beast’s head straight off before it had a chance to react. The tables had turned. Spike quietly inhaled through his nostrils, readying flaming barrage. Now it was his turn to hunt.

No.

No? This thing was going to kill him if he didn’t do something.

You said you’re not a killer.

He squished bugs before. This wasn’t any different.

Look again. Don’t you see it?

Irritated, Spike glared at the monster before him, an alien from a monster movie. Like some vampiric demon, it existed only to cause remorseless pain, a curse to all other beings. He knew this abomination was dangerous and could slay him with lightning speed, but … that didn’t justify burning it. He stared at the triangular head, eyes that knew neither remorse nor mercy, nor had the capacity to comprehend either. It wasn’t malicious like King Sombra or Tirek. It didn’t enslave countless others or threaten the entire world. It wasn’t even a bully like Garble, who enjoyed lording his power over others. It was just doing what it was supposed to do: eat and survive. Unlike Big Cow or him, this creature didn’t have the luxury of eating leaves or gemstones. It was specifically designed to be a hunter. This praying mantis was Spike: trying to survive in a hostile but beautiful world. 

Spike knew he was going to hate himself later when this creature ate him for dinner, but for now, he softly exhaled through his nose and the mantis walked past him. He dared not shift around and give away his position. He had to hope the creature would not backtrack, that it would continue a steady approach to the end of the tree branch. Problem: how would he know when to make a run for the line? … No idea? No idea. He waited, silently motionless as a stone. Minutes passed. His legs began cramping, his eyes watery from gazing vigil without respite. Any longer and he wouldn’t be strong enough to reach the – 

NOW! RUN!

Fueled with adrenaline, Spike leapt from his hiding place towards the line. Without pausing, he grasped it and quickly slid down. Half way down the line, two curious spheres stared at him from the branch. Pausing, he met those eyes without hate, and those eyes gazed back, emotionless rocks. Predator and prey, prey and predator no longer; now, they were two living beings, just trying to survive, who accidentally stumbled into the other’s path. The mantis was the first to break gaze. She retreated from the line, hiding within the leaves. Deciding to follow suit, Spike shimmied down the line to his footholds. Near the end of the web, he drew the dagger from his armor and buried it once more into the tree, placing his right foot in the lower hole. Once all his daggers and feet were in place, he made his slow climb back to the ground.

Upon reaching the ground, Spike fell into a heap, exhausted. He wanted to just close his eyes and fall asleep, but a rumbling stomach and a sharp thirst made him reluctantly postpone his desired rest. He rose to his feet, sheathed his daggers, gathered the fallen sore fruits, and approached the cave. Suddenly, he remembered Sir Knight’s voice warning him about the creature and helping him through the whole ordeal. He glanced around for some sight of the knight. He could not find any trace of the warrior. Perhaps, he was hiding in a nearby tree? That would allow him to see Spike and recognize the danger he was in, but Sir Knight’s voice did not come from any particular direction; rather it hovered around him like a phantom. At least, Spike thought it was Sir Knight’s voice. He was certain he hadn’t imagined it. The humming continued buzzing in his ears, dissonant as static. Ignoring the noise, he cupped his mouth.

“Sir Knight,” he addressed the forest symphony, “where ever you are, I just want to say thanks for saving me. Not just from the mantis, but from doing something I would regret.”

“You saved yourself Spike. From both the mantis and yourself.”

The warm voice pierced through the forest symphony and hissing buzz, all the way to his ears. Spike grinned before addressing the forest once more.

"But you told me Finger-face was there.”

“Finger-face?” A bemused voice responded.

“She’s gotta have a name, right?” Spike shrugged. “Anyways, if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have known she was sneaking up on me or when she was far away enough for me to reach the rope.”

“I could only tell you what you already knew.”

Spike blinked, wanting to ask what Sir Knight meant, but instinctively he felt the presence retreat into the jungle. He sensed Sir Knight leave? He rubbed his head in astonishment. How had he known what he couldn’t see? Perhaps, in the absence of total sight, his other senses had strengthened? Thinking back on the branch, he recalled hearing the tiniest sound disharmonious to the forest song prior to Sir Knight’s warning. If that sound was the mantis, then he may have unconsciously suspected something else on the branch. Had Sir Knight’s warning only emphasized a dim notion? 

He sighed. Hanging around Twilight had made him too scatterbrained and prone to heuristics. Remembering his task, he retreated to his cave and emptied several sore fruits, before storing them on his belt, removing one dagger to lighten his weight, scarfed down a gemstone, and made his way back to the river.


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