There was a gnawing in his head, as if something were eating his brain from the inside. He wakes up, gazing around blearily. Barely able to make out anything except the dark blue above, and golden brown around him. His vision seems to flutter, becoming duller before growing sharper, able to make out his surroundings. Groaning, the young man begins to stand, only to fall back down. He tries a second time, swaying unsteadily as he takes his first step, only to fall again the second his foot touched the ground.
On his third try, he manages to stagger to his feet, albeit in an extremely hunched position, swaying unsteadily as he gazed blearily at the field around him. The golden brown seeming to be a wheat field, waist high to him. These thoughts barely register within him as he blankly stares around, still unsure of his location. He opens his mouth, feeling the air touch his dry throat for the first time in what felt like days. In an attempt to speak, he manages a single, drawn-out groan.
The young man raises his arms, taking in the assortment of bruises and small cuts on his forearms from the rough ground of the field. Many seem to be healing already, some of the bruises disappearing before his eyes. He raspily murmurs something unintelligible, voice still not fully returned. Out of nowhere, his bizarre serenity in this empty, moonlit field, comes a single thought. He immediately buries it, the complex thought paining his disoriented mind. A thought that would return many years later.
It suddenly hits him how completely abandoned the field is. No crickets chirping, nor birds singing yet, at this hour. But shouldn't there be someone here? Another gnawing begins in his body, but now in his heart rather than his head. The want for companionship, from his own kind. What that means, he has yet to understand. He blinks away the dirt from his eyes, turning in a slow and unbalanced circle, nearly stumbling a few times. His vision is much clearer than it previously was, yet still he sees nobody. The gnawing worsens, he knows he must find his own kind. And still, he does not understand with "his kind" is.
And just as sudden as the first, another realization: His hunger. The young man hungers for blood. But this realization doesn't come as such a surprise, it seems natural, a regular part of life. Now aware of it, the hunger grows from a simple want to a ravenous need, an overwhelming urge. He salivates at the thought of the crimson stuff. He begins a slow walk towards the village, barely visible from this far distance. But, not even a few minutes towards his goal, the sun begins to rise. The ordinary sunrise fills him with a new dread, survival instinct overturning his hunger and turning him in the direction of the much closer forest.
His swaying shamble rapidly turns into a balanced, swift gait carrying him to the forest's edge, getting faster as the sun continues to illuminate the field. Hunger could wait, he thinks, now wishing for the safety of shady forest. He breaks into a run, shoving through the wheat as though it were nonexistent. The young man makes it into the forest with just enough time to see the encroaching sun sweep over the ground he stood just minutes ago. Turning on his heel, he continues into the forest. No point in waiting around.
As he walks under the shady treetops, the young man announces his presence with the crunch of a fallen branch under his foot. This sound does not disturb him, but it comes as a surprise to the countless animals under the same leafy roof as himself. Birds take flight and squirrels race through the branches, causing him to flinch at the unexpected flurry of movement. But he does not stop his own movement, continuing his walk to nowhere in particular. But, come nightfall, he does have a goal.
Gox will feed.
