Rorak crested the top of the lightly snow covered hill. He could feel the spirit that moment. Not his spirit, but the connection of both his spirit and the spirit that is greater than himself. He felt it pass through him, cleansing him of all wrongdoing. He was now allowed to forgive himself and he wept. He wept for several hours on top of that hill. He was connected again. Connected to God and the universe. His tears of unworthiness and joy trickled down his sun weathered, darkened skin and into the thick dark brown hairs of his beard. His long brown hair hung over his face as he bent down in praise. Finally, after his tears would come no more, he stood up and took in a deep breath. Wiping the cold somewhat frozen tears from his face and beard.
"My God! My Lord! My Savior!", he yelled. "Thank you for Your grace!".
Rorak stood there looking out at the beautiful snow covered trees and his village below, smoke slowly rising from the chimneys of the tavern, the smithy and some of the cottages. The grace he felt he knew he did not deserve but he welcomed it as he knew he should. Being human, he still held onto it, however. Onto the wrongdoing. He knew that God himself had forgiven him, he felt His grace. However, he still felt the sting of it in his memory.
"Why can't I forgive myself?", he thought. "I know I am able to now. What must I learn from this?"
Snow started to fall lightly upon him and his village. The wind blew and he felt the chill of it through his skin and into his bones. Snow stuck to his hair and his beard. He started back down the hill he crested hours earlier. Feeling the chill in his bones he headed for the tavern where he knew there would be a fire, and food. The snow crushed lightly below his feet as he walked. The trees rustled as the wind blew them and some of the snow on them fell off as the branches moved. As he walked down the hill towards the tavern he felt as if he was being watched. He looked around himself and peered through the trees. His eyes darted to and from quickly.
"Was that a shadow, or... something else?", he thought as he noticed some movement in the trees to his left, but with the wind blowing the branches to the trees it was difficult to tell. He kept walking and looking around. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword and felt the reassurance of it's leather wrapped handle made cold in the snow. He gripped it tightly, ready for whatever lurked in the trees.
"Is it a bear? A wolf? What is it?", his thoughts reeling. There was movement to his left again and this time he knew it wasn't the branches of the trees. He knew it wasn't a shadow. It was something else. Something dark and very good at hiding, but Rorak was a trained hunter and he knew what to watch for.
Just then the wind turned and he was able to get a sent from the direction of the movement in the trees. The sent was rancid like that of flesh rotting in the open sun, yet mixed with the sweat of an animal. His heart pounded at the smell of it and his flight-or-fight response clicked on. His body producing the needed adrenaline and fear for keen alertness and stamina. Rorak pulled his sword quickly with the sound of it's metal ringing against it's sheath as he brought it from it's place along his left side.
The beast descended upon him with a growling wail that burned in his ears. There was no time to run. He had to fight.
(To be continued...)