TulMadman

The hole I found under one of the trees was small but big enough for me to hide in. It would do for a temporary sanctuary until I find a nearby town or group of travelers. It was at least two feet wide, big enough for someone to squeeze into, or something. I would probably be better to go in with a source of light considering it could be a hole that drops further. I turn from it, and being looking for some viable branches to use. After about five minutes of searching the immediate area, I find some branches and loose vine. Using two branches, I create a dip in one. Taking some drew grass, I continue to rub the sticks until the grass catches f

Being alive for hundreds of years can take a toll on the mind. First comes the grief and sorrow of losing loved ones to time, next is the depression of dying. Shortly after is insanity or madness. It's funny what madness does to the mind. It blurs the connection between reality and the imagination. Making reality seem fake and the fake real. Being a immortal added to that, it could take a century or ten to make out the differences. The roving madman, the insane hermit, the Doom Sayer. Good names to go by, but eventually you break it. It's been three thousand years, and I'm still alive, stuck at the age of what could be considered twenty-one.