A lonely campfire flickered in the darkness of the forest. A young man sat beside it, feeding small twigs into the flames while quietly chuckling to himself.
The sound of footsteps approached along the road.
An old woman emerged from the shadows, gripping her walking staff tightly.
“Boy… what are you doing alone out here?” she asked.
The young man slowly turned his head toward her. His eyes seemed locked on the fire more than on the woman herself.
He grinned.
“Oh… I’m not alone,” he said softly, gesturing toward the flames.
“The fire keeps me company.”
The woman frowned in confusion.
“That’s… strange company.”
The man laughed suddenly — a sharp, slightly unsteady laugh — before leaning closer to the flames.
“You know… when I was a child, I loved the sound it makes. Crackling… popping… like it’s whispering secrets.”
He tossed another stick into the fire and watched it ignite eagerly.
“When I was twelve, I made a fire that was… too big.”
The flames reflected in his eyes as he spoke.
“A house burned that night. My house.”
The woman stiffened.
“People in the village did not like that very much,” he continued with a crooked smile.
“They looked at me as if I were some sort of monster.”
He leaned back and laughed quietly again.
“But fire never judged me.”
The old woman took a cautious step backward.
The man tilted his head slightly as if noticing her fear.
“Oh don’t worry,” he said casually, waving a hand.
“I only burn things when they deserve it.”
The woman wasted no more time. She quickly turned and hurried down the road.
The man watched her leave before letting out another raspy laugh.
“Well… that conversation ended quickly.”
After a while he stood, mounted his horse, and continued along the road.
As he rode through the dark forest, he briefly pulled a small drawing from his satchel.
The paper showed three figures — a man, a woman, and a young boy.
He looked at it silently before placing it back into his bag and riding on.
A lonely campfire flickered in the darkness of the forest. A young man sat beside it, feeding small twigs into the flames while quietly chuckling to himself.
The sound of footsteps approached along the road.
An old woman emerged from the shadows, gripping her walking staff tightly.
“Boy… what are you doing alone out here?” she asked.
The young man slowly turned his head toward her. His eyes seemed locked on the fire more than on the woman herself.
He grinned.
“Oh… I’m not alone,” he said softly, gesturing toward the flames.
“The fire keeps me company.”
The woman frowned in confusion.
“That’s… strange company.”
The man laughed suddenly — a sharp, slightly unsteady laugh — before leaning closer to the flames.
“You know… when I was a child, I loved the sound it makes. Crackling… popping… like it’s whispering secrets.”
He tossed another stick into the fire and watched it ignite eagerly.
“When I was twelve, I made a fire that was… too big.”
The flames reflected in his eyes as he spoke.
“A house burned that night. My house.”
The woman stiffened.
“People in the village did not like that very much,” he continued with a crooked smile.
“They looked at me as if I were some sort of monster.”
He leaned back and laughed quietly again.
“But fire never judged me.”
The old woman took a cautious step backward.
The man tilted his head slightly as if noticing her fear.
“Oh don’t worry,” he said casually, waving a hand.
“I only burn things when they deserve it.”
The woman wasted no more time. She quickly turned and hurried down the road.
The man watched her leave before letting out another raspy laugh.
“Well… that conversation ended quickly.”
After a while he stood, mounted his horse, and continued along the road.
As he rode through the dark forest, he briefly pulled a small drawing from his satchel.
The paper showed three figures — a man, a woman, and a young boy.
He looked at it silently before placing it back into his bag and riding on.
A lonely campfire flickered in the darkness of the forest. A young man sat beside it, feeding small twigs into the flames while quietly chuckling to himself.
The sound of footsteps approached along the road.
An old woman emerged from the shadows, gripping her walking staff tightly.
“Boy… what are you doing alone out here?” she asked.
The young man slowly turned his head toward her. His eyes seemed locked on the fire more than on the woman herself.
He grinned.
“Oh… I’m not alone,” he said softly, gesturing toward the flames.
“The fire keeps me company.”
The woman frowned in confusion.
“That’s… strange company.”
The man laughed suddenly — a sharp, slightly unsteady laugh — before leaning closer to the flames.
“You know… when I was a child, I loved the sound it makes. Crackling… popping… like it’s whispering secrets.”
He tossed another stick into the fire and watched it ignite eagerly.
“When I was twelve, I made a fire that was… too big.”
The flames reflected in his eyes as he spoke.
“A house burned that night. My house.”
The woman stiffened.
“People in the village did not like that very much,” he continued with a crooked smile.
“They looked at me as if I were some sort of monster.”
He leaned back and laughed quietly again.
“But fire never judged me.”
The old woman took a cautious step backward.
The man tilted his head slightly as if noticing her fear.
“Oh don’t worry,” he said casually, waving a hand.
“I only burn things when they deserve it.”
The woman wasted no more time. She quickly turned and hurried down the road.
The man watched her leave before letting out another raspy laugh.
“Well… that conversation ended quickly.”
After a while he stood, mounted his horse, and continued along the road.
As he rode through the dark forest, he briefly pulled a small drawing from his satchel.
The paper showed three figures — a man, a woman, and a young boy.
He looked at it silently before placing it back into his bag and riding on.
!!!DİSCLAİMER:i wrote this when i was in class on word so thats why the text model is a bit goofy!!!
