Panic consumes Lincoln as he takes a huge gulp of air waking up. That skies have become dark and an ominous howl in the wind fills the night as the clouds above him and the tree are circling into a spiral. He has to run, he knows it. The fear in him is screaming that he has to, but his limbs remain dead.
He scrambles for any sign of both Dirkan and Shinyo, but he cannot find any. His memory is blurry, unable to recall anything, but the idea of his father being alive is urging him on.
A shot of adrenaline courses through his veins urging him, even more, to move, irrationally shuffling himself off the branch sending him crashing to the ground. A loud thump follows, and a crack that nearly sends him into a whimper, but the adrenaline masks it resulting in a subtle grimace.
He looks ahead. Beyond the dark. Beyond the dying grass and on to the clearing.
Dirkan. I have to talk to Dirkan.
In spite of going in and out of consciousness, he worms his way through mud and pebbles until his limbs start to feel alive again.
I...need...to reach Dirkan.
Questions. I...have...questions.
Pushing, Lincoln carries on against the will of strong, howling winds until he passes out embracing the mud that cakes him.
---
"Lincoln," the darkness around him echoes only to meet his groaning.
"Lincoln," it whispers once more, an urgency in its tone.
He wakes up in a fit of panic. Eyes open with haste as the sweat runs down his forehead. His breathing heavy.
"Dirkan?" he asks, blinking away the stupor.
"Dirkan?" the shadow repeats in disgust, "Do not lump me with that lumbering buffoon."
Lincoln takes this insult badly because event though Dirkan does not teach him what he wants, he is the thing to family, and Lincoln takes family very seriously but with his back bare with the absence of his quiver and his bow, he raises his fist as a last resort.
"Oooh," teases the voice with a face, "You think you are strong enough."
"I don't care. You are deluded if you think you can speak badly of the only family I have."
"You have moxy kid," the voice praises, "At least you have that," the sound of slow clapping echoes in the abyss confusing Lincoln as it grows louder. Disorientation sets in, and the clapping transforms into a steely clang – steel against steel. The stygian iron manifests itself leaving Lincoln at awe, but cautious.
"Take care of it," overlapping voices instructs, "We might just meet again."
He screams, voiceless, for the silhouette that again appears, only to wake up in Dirkan's hut with the rain continuing to pour, heavy against the roof.
Dirkan greets Lincoln's stuporous face with his mug full of worry as much as his beard. When he sees Lincoln open his eyes, a smile replaces his concern.
"Where were you?" Dirkan starts with anger from Lincoln's irresponsibility.
"Just went out for a stroll."
"How does a stroll get you this dirty?!" holding up his shirt, messy with mud, grease, and grass stains from his crawl back. Choosing to ignore this, Lincoln's attention is elsewhere. His breathing grows increasingly short as he scans the room for his bow and quiver, but it remains missing. In its stead lays a scabbard, empty, with bronze carvings on its face. Its leather dark, but well made.
"LINCOLN! HOW?!" Dirkan raises his voice. The insolence becomes too much. This startles Lincoln, pulling his attention back to Dirkan. The sound of hot water bubbling underneath the kettle become clearer and the heavy rain louder, Lincoln tries his best to pull words out of his tongue and explain, when waves it off.
"Never mind that lad," he says in haste, "Rest some more. Food is on the table. More clothes."
He reaches out for Dirkan, in a whisper.
"What was that m'dear boy?" he asks, his scowl now a comforting smile.
"Is everything alright?" Lincoln asks, trying to read the thoughts going through Dirkan's head.
"Of course," Dirkan reassures, but his tone is somber, "None the better m'lad," and he forces a smile. Lincoln nods, avoiding pushing the subject allowing Dirkan to step out in peace, his thoughts remain full of trouble.
For a while, Lincoln is left alone with his thoughts that is welling up inside him – his dream, the things that trouble Dirkan, and there is Shinyo – all coming into a convoluting mess when Dirkan barges in back to the hut, swearing and out of breath.
"Fuck!" Dirkan panicking, barricading the door to a halt.
"You're back early?" Lincoln inquires with concern.
Dirkan avoids eye contact as he gathers himself in a strong breath but an explosion from afar sends Dirkan into a frenzy.
"We gotta go lad," orders Dirkan, dragging Lincoln to his feet before he drags him outside, setting them off in the cold, in the storm of the night.