Telephasic Workshop (Day 119)

The others were still asleep--and as he had been only a few days before, he felt alone. As he gazed down the mountain trail, he found his thoughts drifting to what he'd learned of the young woman, of what he might have shared with her in turn. He hadn't allowed himself to think of it in detail a single time since he'd set out on this journey, but it was out in the open now. He'd killed his father. It was an accident that he would never be able to make up for. So what did he decide to do? He ran.

How could he even begin to explain what had transpired? His father, that massive, bearded beast of a man, slain by his teenage son--it defied common sense. Terakiel had called on a power much greater than himself, a power that stemmed from a mysterious source called the Strand. If he were to be completely truthful with himself he would admit that it had been a force building inside him for a long time. It had made him feel an indescribable hunger that he was desperate to sate.

There had been an argument. The details were as inconsequential as they always were, but suffice to say such arguments were commonplace. Terakiel had been angry and upset--and that sickly hunger rose within him and he longed desperately for a way to lash out at this man who was so much stronger than he. He had never meant to hurt him. There was a dark part of him that might have relished the thought of hurting the man who had hurt him so much and so often--but it wasn't really what he wanted.

Regardless of his motivations, Terakiel's father was dead. There existed no power in the world that could erase that simple fact. Perhaps the braver thing to do would have been staying in Tombolin to face his inevitable punishment--and to be exposed to a litany of questions he would be unable to answer. But he had been so terrified, so afraid--that he simply fled on the spot. He had to wonder how long the old man's lifeless body had been lying there until he was discovered.

He could only begin to speculate as to what conclusions the townspeople might draw about his death. It would be immediately apparent to an observer that the wound on the man's chest was not one made by any man-made weapon. It was terrible. Just thinking of that mess of blistered flesh again made Terakiel sick to his stomach.

He turned away from the jagged opening the cavern wall and cast a glance at the young woman, still sleeping soundly despite her peculiar position. What does she know? How could I possibly explain what I have done? I'm not sure I can justify it even to myself.