Nightfall had long swept away the sun from the sky, and it would be long before the stars were overcome by dawn. Amidst the noises and shadows of the forest, a single bit of warmth and light broke the otherwise uniform scene.

This small campfire, weak with hunger, crackled quietly in a small clearing, casting flickering shadows into the jungle that quivered in fear before being swallowed by the night. Leaning against a tree not situated far from the campfire was a semi-prone figure, a merman who called himself Nathan, looking into the fire. Lying against him was a second figure, the Lanian huntress Feray, very much asleep.

As Feray rested with her head against Nathan's shoulder, his own body called out for sleep, but his mind was not yet ready to release him.

He had long been looking into the fire, watching it jump and dance, letting its fading warmth flow through him like a glowing red blanket, as its reflection sent sparks weaving through his black eyes. The dying flames sent fingers of light outward to touch and caress the ground around the campfire, before falling back again just as quickly as if teasing it. Nathan had been watching his display for some time. And while it at first was looked upon only as an observable phenomenon, the antics were beginning to annoy his already souring mood.

Despite his calm exterior and usual bravado, Nathan was very much confused. Since beginning his long journey (and now exile) to the surface world, he has always shielded himself with the words and truths of Rorqual, the first Mer. Those words had always lifted his spirit and brought him strength when his own resolve wavered. They had been the cornerstone of his whole life thus far, and he knew he could always turn to them when in need of advice.

But now he was beginning to find himself more and more at odds with them. The monolith that had been his faith was beginning to crack, and he did not like it one bit. Again and again he remembered his way through each passage of the Liturgy of Rorqual as he did so long ago at the Temple with the dawning of the Brightwater time. But each time he did, doubts would appear, and send his mind arcing off in another internal debate.

Nathan watched Feray for a few moments, to make sure that she was in fact still asleep, before resuming his train of thought. He began the Liturgy again in his mind, trying once again to silence the doubts that plagued him.

"Rejoice in the might of the sea, for it is strong and will remain when all else is dust."

That one was simple enough, and one that Nathan still completely believed in.

"Rejoice in the storm and rain, for it brings new life and transforms those that will not bend before it."

Again, no qualms here either.

"All life came from the sea, and from it, it shall be reborn."

Despite seeing all the myriad creatures of the surface world, it still paled in comparison to that which lived beneath the waves. No trouble there.

"Rejoice in the beast, for it is what makes us whole, and binds us to the world we live in."

The beast: that which set him apart from his companions more than anything else. As a creature of instinct, his were strong, and they guided his actions often. If all else failed, he knew that he could trust the beast within him for guidance. For some reason, many surface dwellers felt that divorcing oneself from one's instincts made you superior, or at least more 'rational' or 'civilized'.

He spat at those words, despairing in their irony.

"Strong are the brood of Rorqual, for in them is the blood of mortals, the will of gods, and the spirit of the great beasts."

While it was true that his people were indeed powerful, he had begun to wonder if that power was blinding them. He had the unique opportunity to see his people in action from an outsider's point of view, and the image was not near as inspiring or noble as it was made out to be.

"Be true to yourself and others, for those who are truly strong fear no secrets."

Keeping secrets from enemies was one thing, but total strangers? Colleagues? Friends? Nathan still could not understand why surface dwellers so easily accepted secrets, and as far as he was concerned, was one of their major faults.

"Know your place in life and rejoice in it, for all have their place, and each one is important in the world as a whole."

Nathan knew his place, once. Now he was alone in a strange world that he knew he would never completely fit into, with no place in it to call his own. And for him, this was a frightening turn of events.

"Judge with care the glory in victory, the despair in defeat, the fear in conflict, the relief in resolution: all are fleeting."

It was one thing to be overly wrapped up in life's events and accomplishments, but his life had become so frantic and hectic as of late he was amazed that he had any time for reflection at all.

"Suffer not the wounds inflicted upon you by the weak in silence. To spare them means only greater suffering in time."

Nathan sighed unhappily. This was a big one. He knew the merfolk would rather die than be another victim of the surface dweller's actions. Better to die with honor than quivering in fear, right? He knew that Gyan wanted to set things right eventually, but had no clue as to what that would actually involve. And if he did find out, he might have second thoughts, depending on his tolerance for pain and instinct for self-preservation.

"The weak die and the strong live, that is the way of things. And like it or not, none have the power to change that."

Nathan's gaze immediately dropped to look at Feray. She was strong, he knew that. But it seemed like she was slowly giving up to the malady inside her. If she was not strong enough to overcome it, then she would die. It was that simple.

So why was that so hard for him to accept?

The idea of losing his best friend made him angry, but why?

He had known others who had died, others he had known longer and better than Feray. Others of his own kind even. He had accepted their deaths without pause.

Life and death are one, right?

The weak die and the strong live, right?

Right?

He knew it was all true, but something inside him refused to accept that. He could neither name it, nor pin it down to examine it. It was elusive and alien to him, always just out of sight, yet he could sense its constant presence. A shadowy distraction that refused to face him. His frustration spilled over and he growled at no one in particular. He was very angry, with himself for being so confused, with Feray for even thinking about giving up, with the surface dwellers to being so dense, and for what felt like a thousand other reasons he could not name. But before he started grinding his teeth together in frustration, Feray stirred a bit, and he wondered if his musing had woken her. Feray merely readjusted herself slightly and murmured something that he couldn't make out, before going inert once again. She turned her face towards his chest more, and her cobalt locks spilled over every which way, the hand draped across his stomach reaching up to grip his tunic lightly.

As he watched her, his anger faded, and his thoughts began to organize again. He chided himself for his foolishness.

Feray yet lived, and so long as she remained strong, there was hope.

That thought comforted him, although he wasn't quite sure why.

He allowed himself to relax, and his body once again reminded him that he was exhausted. He finally relented, and slowly eased Feray up slightly so he could lie down fully on the ground. She began to whine a bit as he moved, but soon settled down again after he stopped.

Ignoring the fire as it continued to die down, he looked up into the darkness above him, only able to see scant few stars through the thick canopy. He kicked at the few remaining sticks, sending them into the fire so that it would stop complaining long enough for him to fall asleep, then closed his eyes.

Rest came soon enough, and the sounds and darkness of the jungle continued on into the night.