The sun welcomed them from the east; the sky painted a gentle, pale blue. One would not expect a day to arrive so perfectly to a night ridden with death, but so it did.

The events of the night before were still playing through Albern’s head. He could still see the symbols on the sword shinning a bright orange. He tried forgetting about it, he couldn’t.

"How are your hands feeling?" asked Aurol, riding closely beside him.

Albern held them out in front of him, they were blood red. "Sore." He said

"Uncle Woodley will be able to fix them up." Said Aurol, his voice was gentle.

Albern went to touch his sword, hesitant at first, but the coolness of steel greeted him, soothing his hands.

"I did not wish for this to happen," he whispered softly to himself, though not softly enough.

"Nor I, brother." said Aurol, "But we must do, what we must do. For the Gods have given us a different path. One we must take, as rocky as it may be."

Aurol looked over at his brother, he saw how burnt his hands still looked. "I must wrap your hands again, Albern." he said, noticing the saggy cloth hanging around the horse’s neck.

Albern grunted in agreeance, stopping his horse.

"We must eat, too." said Albern, his attempt at getting off his horse was pitiful.

"Let me help you, brother." said Aurol, getting off his horse with the swiftness one would expect from a wizard. He walked to his brother’s side, helping him down.

"You really are going to be quite useless with those burnt hands, aren’t you?" said Aurol, his smile was kind.

"Not as useless as you," answered Albern, pointing behind his brother. "You might be needing that horse."

Aurol turned in panic. His horse had wandered half way down the dirt track, an old man was patting its head. “C0me back here!" yelled Aurol, running off after it.

Albern chuckled to himself as he gave his horse an apple. It was considerably hard to do considering he had two burnt hands, yet he managed.

"You’re a good horse, aren’t you?" said Albern softly, stroking its mane with the back of his hand. ‘Good horses deserve a name’. He noticed two large scars running down each of its back legs, nearly the shape of a crescent moon. ’What happened to you here?’ He wondered, drawing the outline of it with his finger.

"How about Moon?" he said to the horse, continuing to chew on its apple.

‘Yes, Moon.’ He thought, thinking about the name. Moon was a nice name; nice name for a nice horse.

“I shall call you moon." Said Albern, noticing his brother’s return.

"Stupid horse," complained Aurol, walking back to where Albern stood. "Dumb old man gave it an apple, the dumb horse didn’t want to leave his side."

Aurol tied the horse to the nearest fence, cursing after it and the old man as he did. "Stupid, dumb man. Dumb horse." he muttered to himself.

"Never been one with animals, have you?" said Albern, staring at Aurol’s hand as he walked back. "What’s that in your hand?" he said sceptically.

"Huh? Oh this," answered Aurol casually, showing numerous pieces of torn up paper. "It’s nothing, just scraps from my journal."

"Since when have you kept a journal?" asked Albern, laughter influencing his voice.

"Since when I decided to keep one." said Aurol defensively, looking at his brother. "It’s not a problem I keep one, is it?"

Aurol’s face had turned a shade of red.

Albern stared at his brother, stunned by his reaction. "I was simply curious, Aurol," said Albern, feeling unnerved. "That is all."

"Curiosity has gotten men killed," replied Aurol, putting his hand in his pocket. The pieces fell. "We must all be careful where we stick our noses."

The silence that followed was quick.

The two brothers stared at each other. Albern looked his brother up and down, noticing his hand was now empty.

"We must keep moving," said Aurol, as if he had a sudden realisation. "I have warned Uncle Woodley of our arrival and path we’re taking to get to Saint Melen by thought transfer, in case we get lost or run into any form of trouble."

Aurol helped Albern back onto his horse and untied his own.

"We haven’t eaten," said Albern bitterly, still staring at his brother. "Nor have you wrapped my hands up."

"You had time to eat." said Aurol, his voice wasn’t kind. "Yet you didn’t, nor did you remind me to wrap up your hand, so I forgot. You will have to wait until Uncle Woodley’s."

Aurol gave a high pitch whistle. His horse began to trot on down the track. The sound of hooves vanishing as he took off out of sight.

Albern was staring at the ground. A single piece of scroll lay motionless. It looked like it belonged to a much larger piece.

Albern continued to stare at it. Though it wasn’t much to look at, it was barely the size of a silver coin.

Albern whistled for his horse to start moving, he directed it over to the nearest fence.

"We will catch up soon, Moon," muttered Albern, using the fence to help him off his horse. "Just wait here."

Albern walked over to the piece of scroll. He touched his sword’s handle as he did, for his hands were beginning to hurt badly.

He stood over the top of it, kneeling down. Its edges had been ripped; almost taking the shape of bite marks, and where it had been burnt looked much worse from up close, a sharp breeze would’ve broken it into a thousand little pieces.

’What happened to you?’ he thought, touching it lightly with the tips of his fingers.

"Albern!" shouted Aurol, his voice echoing down the road. "Are you coming or what?"

Albern ignored his brother’s call. Still looking down at the single piece of scroll.

’You’re surprisingly beautiful,’ noticing four faded symbols on the other side of it. ’What do we have here?’.

"Wait, no! Don’t turn it over, Albern!" The desperate cry went straight through his ears.

His hand went to turn it over, he couldn’t stop it.

"Don’t do it, Albern! The voice cried, the sound of galloping hooves becoming louder and louder. "STOP!"

Albern lost control of his body, his burnt hands didn’t hurt anymore. He began turning the piece of scroll over. His sword became hot, yet he couldn’t feel it.

"Put it down, Albern!" the cry becoming more and more desperate. "It will kill you!"

Albern’s sword unsheathed itself. Its markings glowing bright orange. It flew itself at Aurol.

Aurol unsheathed his dagger, muttering words not from the known language. It formed into a staff, a blue crystal glowing out the top of it. He waved it through the air. The blue crystal turned a blood red, producing a shield like force, blocking the swords attack.

Albern’s eyes were melting, yet there was no pain. He felt at peace with what was happening. He could hear his brother muttering words from a distance, he felt the emptiness of his scabbard. He felt free.

"Close your eyes, Albern!" shouted Aurol, still battling the unmanned sword. "Please!"

Albern could hear the desperation in his brother’s voice, he felt sorry for him. Yet he didn’t. Anger was swelling up inside him. Unwanted memories entering his head. He could see their Mother. Her final breaths being taken. A little baby being given to their uncle.

"What do you want to call him?" he said, tears rolling down his cheeks.

’Make it stop,’ Albern thought desperately. ’Make it stop.’

He could still hear his brother fighting.

"Aurol," said his Mother with her final dying breath. "Name him, Aurol."

Albern couldn’t take it anymore. He closed his eyes. "Make it stop," he yelled. "Make it stop!

He could feel pain coming back to him. It was unbearable. "Make it stop" he begged, yet it didn’t.

He could feel his eyes regaining their form, moulding to fit his eye sockets.

He kept his eyes closed. They wanted to open, to feel the symbols against them. Albern didn’t give them what they wanted; fighting the pain, feeling it weaken.

Albern stretched out his hand, feeling for the piece of scroll. Yet only dirt and rocks greeted his hand, irritating his burns.

He heard hooves against the ground, they became fainter and fainter. "Aurol!" he yelled, he couldn’t hear him anymore. "Where are you?"

’He left me,’ feared Albern, scared of opening his eye’s to see if he was there. He wouldn’t have left me.’

The though raced through Albern’s mind. He felt helpless. ’He wouldn’t have left me,’ he thought again, trying to convince himself. Tears beginning to form in his eyes. Memories of the night before flooding back, kneeling down in the darkness, no way to defend himself.

"What is happening?" he said weakly, tasting his tears. The saltiness of them cleansing his mouth. ‘What is the meaning of all this?’

Albern laid down on the dirt track; feeling the stones press against his back, some were painful. He closed his eyes even tighter. Wishing for it all to be over.