The Destroyer of Worlds.

Bryn could tell something was wrong. He didn't know how, but something just felt bad. It was like a bad smell cloying at his nostrils and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make it go away. He stalked around the cave floor, the shadows of the fire dancing across his skin, impatiently trying to shake the feeling off. But still it wouldn't go away. Bryn groaned and sat down against the cave wall, watching the smoke twist across the roof. His two companions were asleep beside him, Mayra curled in a corner and Avar lying in his usual untidy fashion at the cave entrance. Bryn was supposed to be on watch, but he just couldn't concentrate.

The badness had been bothering Bryn for days, ever since the small company had left the cover of the forest. Before it had been and easily ignored sort of tingling, but now it was an agitating rash that bothered him at all times and prevented him from sleeping. He'd told his friends, but they hadn't taken him seriously. They just thought he was distressed and tired and that it would eventually go away. But it hadn't, and now as he stared up at the ceiling with the feeling nagging at his senses, Bryn began to feel very alone. Perhaps he'd have to deal with the problem himself.

The End

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