I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. It was not blood. It was the taste of the soil. I lay still. The air was cold and smelled of wet wool and woodsmoke. I knew where I was. I knew who I was. I was a man who had stolen. I was a man who had killed. I was a prisoner of my own hands.

The dream had been long. It had been a week. In the dream, the walls were made of stone. They were thick and dark. I had seen the light through a crack in the rock. I had seen her. She was standing in the field. She was not looking at me. She was looking at the sky. I wanted to call to her. I could not. My voice was gone. My body was heavy. I was sinking into the earth.

I opened my eyes. The ceiling was low. It was made of rough timber. A single candle burned in the corner. The flame was steady. It did not flicker. I sat up. My legs felt weak. I touched my chest. The wound was there. It was deep. It would not close. I knew this. I had made sure of it.

I was in a wagon. The wheels creaked. We were moving. The road was bad. It was muddy. It was dark. Outside, the rain began to fall. It hit the wood with a soft sound. Like fingers tapping on a table. I closed my eyes again. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to go back to the dream. In the dream, I was not alone. In the dream, she was there.

I opened my eyes. The wagon stopped. The door opened. A voice called out. It was a low voice. It was rough. It was not kind.

"Get up," the voice said. "The night is cold. The road is long."

I did not move. I could not move. The pain was a white heat. It started in my chest and spread to my fingers. I tried to breathe. I could not. The air was thick. It was heavy. It tasted of ash.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. It was strong. It was firm. It was not gentle. I was pulled from the wagon. My feet touched the ground. The mud was cold. It seeped into my boots. I looked up. A man stood before me. He was tall. He was broad. He wore a cloak of dark leather. He had a beard. It was grey. His eyes were dark. They were deep. They held no pity.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

I nodded. I could not speak. My throat was dry. It was full of dust. I took a step. My leg buckled. I fell. The mud caught me. It was cold. It was wet. It was alive. It moved against my skin.

The man did not help me. He stood there. He watched me. He waited. I forced myself to stand. I leaned against the wagon. My hand shook. I looked at him. I saw his face. I knew him. I did not know how I knew him. I knew his name. It was Thomas.

Thomas Bradshaw.

He was my ally. He was my friend. He had sworn to protect me. He had sworn to help me. He had stood by my side in the war. He had taken a bullet for me. He had bled for me. And now he was here. He was here to take me away.

I looked at him. I saw the truth in his eyes. It was not anger. It was not hatred. It was something else. It was sorrow. It was deep. It was old. It was like the stone. It was like the earth.

He reached into his cloak. He pulled out a flask. It was made of tin. It was dented. It was old. He uncorked it. He held it to his lips. He drank. He wiped his mouth. He offered it to me.

I took it. My hand trembled. I drank. It was whiskey. It was strong. It burned. It was hot. It was alive. It moved through me. It warmed my blood. It cleared my head.

I looked at him. I saw the road ahead. It was dark. It was long. It was empty. We were alone.

He turned and walked into the trees. He did not look back. He did not call to me. He knew I would follow. I knew I would follow. I had no choice. I was a prisoner. I was a sinner. I was a man who had broken the world. And I was a man who loved a woman who was not mine.

The trees were tall. They were black. They stood like sentinels. They watched us. The rain fell harder. It drummed on the leaves. It drummed on the ground. It drummed on my heart.

I followed him. I walked slowly. My breath came in short gasps. The pain was sharp. It was clear. It was real. I could feel my heart beating. It was fast. It was erratic. It was afraid.

We walked for an hour. We walked for two hours. The sun did not rise. The sky remained dark. The stars were out. They were bright. They were cold. They were indifferent. They did not care if we lived or died. They did not care if we were good or evil. They just watched.

Thomas stopped. He stood still. He waited. I caught up to him. I was out of breath. I leaned on my staff. I was using a branch. It was rough. It cut into my hand. I did not feel it. The pain was gone. The pain was replaced by something else. It was numbness. It was emptiness. It was peace.

"Here," Thomas said. His voice was quiet. It was soft. It was gentle.

I looked around. We were in a clearing. It was small. It was round. The trees formed a circle. In the center, there was a stone. It was large. It was grey. It was smooth. It was warm.

I walked to the stone. I touched it. It was hard. It was cold. It was alive. I could feel a pulse. It was slow. It was steady. It was like a heartbeat.

"What is this?" I asked. My voice was weak. It was thin. It was barely a whisper.

"It is the heart of the land," Thomas said. He stood behind me. He was still. He was calm. He was watching me. "It is the source. It is the root. It is the beginning."

I looked at the stone. I looked at Thomas. I looked at the sky. I saw the stars. I saw the moon. It was full. It was bright. It was white. It was cold.

"I cannot stay," I said. "I am not clean. I am not pure. I am a sinner. I am a thief. I am a killer. I cannot touch the heart. I cannot touch the source. I would defile it. I would poison it. I would destroy it."

Thomas did not speak. He watched me. His eyes were dark. They were deep. They were full.

"I have to go," I said. "I have to leave. I have to die. I have to be gone. I cannot be here. I cannot be with you. I cannot be with her."

I turned away. I started to walk. I walked toward the trees. I walked toward the dark. I walked toward the end.

Thomas grabbed my arm. His grip was tight. It was strong. It was firm. It was final.

"Stop," he said. "You are wrong."

I stopped. I turned to face him. My face was pale. My eyes were dark. My hands were shaking.

"You think you are alone," he said. "You think you are the source of the pain. You think you are the cause of the death. You think you are the end. You are wrong. You are the beginning."

I looked at him. I did not understand. I did not believe. I did not want to believe.

"Look," he said.

He pointed to the stone. The stone was glowing. It was bright. It was white. It was pure. It was clean. It was alive.

I looked at the stone. I saw my reflection. I saw my face. I saw my eyes. I saw my heart. It was beating. It was strong. It was full. It was not empty. It was not dead. It was alive.

I saw her. She was there. She was in the stone. She was in the light. She was in the life. She was not gone. She was not lost. She was waiting.

I fell to my knees. I touched the stone. I touched the light. I touched the life. I felt the warmth. I felt the pulse. I felt the love. It was primal. It was instinctual. It was beyond reason. It was beyond words. It was beyond time.

I closed my eyes. I felt the pain leave. I felt the fear leave. I felt the guilt leave. I felt the weight lift. I felt the burden drop. I felt the chain break. I was free.

I opened my eyes. Thomas was gone. The clearing was empty. The stone was cold. It was dark. It was still.

The rain had stopped. The air was clear. The stars were bright. The moon was full. The world was silent. The world was still. The world was waiting.

I stood up. I was strong. I was whole. I was alive. I walked out of the clearing. I walked into the forest. I walked into the dark. I walked into the light.

I did not look back. I did not need to. I knew where I was. I knew who I was. I was a man who had found his way. I was a man who had found his love. I was a man who had found his peace.

The road was long. The road was hard. The road was dark. But I was not alone. The light was with me. The love was with me. The life was with me.

I walked. I walked. I walked.

The end was not an end. It was a beginning. It was a start. It was a breath. It was a heartbeat. It was a life.

I am here. I am alive. I am free.