The drought has been hard on Eoin's village, the crops have withered and the once abundant wild life have been driven by starvation away from the blighted land. He had never ventured this far from home in search of his quarry, but perhaps in the shadow of the mountains, run off from the snowmelt has harbored life in the parched countryside. It is what his instincts, honed by years of study, tell him.
As the day wore on Eoin's hunger became increasingly evident, aside for the rumbling from his stomach, he felt a sense of weakness that he was unaccustomed to. Night approached and he could feel the chill that passed over the plains after sundown washing over him. With the mountains still miles away he took shelter behind a gathering of half buried boulders, gathered some kindling, and prepared a fire. As the sun set Eoin peered out across the desolate plain into the twilight searching for life, but alas, he was alone.
He stared as his fire danced in the night wind, cracking and popping, sometimes blowing in two directions at once as swirls of wind pressed across the land. He leaned back against the rocks, which were warmed by the fire, and spear at his side, closed his eyes. He drifted in and out of a light sleep as the night grew longer, occasionally waking with a start to an unknown sound in the distance only to find himself alone in this cursed place.
"How much longer will this drought last?" he asked himself as he closed his eyes, "what will tomorrow bring?" With that thought deep in his mind, Eoin slipped into a deep sleep.
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