The light of the glade had long since died, leaving only the oppressive, soot-choked darkness of the hollow iron-bark tree. Inside, Vurok was no longer a man; he was a map of agony, a shivering heap of broken bone and flayed skin held together only by the cramped, rotting walls of his wooden tomb.
"I'm going to take everything from you, Vurok," Sol whispered, a tiny, playful lilt dancing in his voice. "Your pride, your strength, and finally, your very breath. And when they find you, they'll say the forest was hungry. But we'll know the truth, won't we? It'll be our little secret."
"Why..." Vurok sobbed, his voice a pathetic, bubbling rasp that echoed off the charred interior. He looked around the dark hollow with the one eye that wasn't swollen shut, his mind fracturing. "Why are you doing this?"
Sol didn't answer immediately. Instead, he giggled… a soft, dry sound that felt out of place in the charnel house. "Alas! Seems like you still don't realize your mistake."
