Probability, possibility, truth and meaning. Words and thoughts spreading through the brain of our hero as they sit upon the rock looking up at the glowing full moon peeking from between the ethereal mists forming across the heavens.
The breeze whipped through the long grass as thoughts turned to moments in the past, places and things that had been the actions the world everything they had known. How it had collapsed, fallen from sight, being reduced to nothing more than hope and dreams. Which ironically was where it had all started. The idea and the possibilities of what they were capable of what they could have created and where their mind should have been able to take them.
As the tiny droplets of rain splashed gently across the face of the stone, our hero raised, collected their belongings and began a slow walk across the field heading towards the cover of the near by out crop at the edge of the cliff face.
The camp fire still smouldered, tent though gently buckling in the breeze was still standing. The door opened with a tug on the line, collapsing through into the bedding our hero's mind once more turned to the wonders of the morning and what the first act should be before rolling into the bundle of linen being used to keep their head from the stony ground.
Finding sleep was hard, so much had happened, acts casting them out from the group, the thoughts raced of how to redeem themselves of the tragedies and incidents that had come to pass and their removal from village life. Yet they failed to find the memories of actually doing these events which caused things to escalate into this exile.
The dawn light broke, hazing through the rising mists breaking the line in the tent door and cascading across the hero, restless and disorientated from the dreams and visions that danced in front of eyes as the night passed through. Break the tent. Collect your things. Remove all trace of your presence and press forward.
Need to move need to get to through the forest before night fall. Have to get through. Thoughts racing through the mind, clambering quickly, packing moving clearing this space. What was that. Ears picking up sound, people moving horse? unsure must move quicker. The bag filled and weighing heavy water saturating the tent and unable to dry as time was of the essence. Strapping the sack tight across the chest feet moved forward, slushing through the mud, after the nights rain, into the woods, trying to move through gaps in the trees and bushes, not leaving a trail, cant be found have to move, urgency ran through the conciousness.
"What you doing?" a voice asked from within the mind of our hero. "I'm running!" spluttered a reply from some where else buried within the conscious.