The First Night:
Rhys's "first night" here was the same as they had been for the last few weeks now. He was losing the energy to wander as his large, iron body crumbled away, piece by piece. He sat, huddled, under a small oak tree, watching over a flock of sheep that he decided he would protect until he eroded away. He barely had the energy to go anywhere as it was, so he was conserving it now. He had given up on finding any humans anywhere. And this night was no different from the rest. There was no moon out tonight that he could see, but his eyes were dimming along with his build, and he could not see much farther than the animals he was watching over. He held a glass bottle between his fingers, and rotated it around and around, examining it once again for cracks. He moaned a long, loud, and mournful moan that could be heard over the plains. It conveyed only the saddest of feelings, and the reality of a lost hope. One of the lambs, only a couple months old, walked over to him now, bleating softly as it did so. The lamb's short wool was grey, and had one patch of white over the right eye. This patch made her different from the rest. Most of the other lambs refused to frolic with her, and so she would always end up alone in the field. Rhys had named her Charcoal, and had dedicated many long hours to feeding and caring for especially her. And so now as she tiredly walked over to him, he shifted himself to the right so she may have room to lay next to him. She put her face right next to his and bleated, smelled the air, and then she laid down, her back pressed against his corroding metal legs, and fell asleep. Rhys was unable to sleep, but he liked to pretend that he could. He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the tree and listened to the sounds of the night. Somewhere, he heard the twang of a bowstring, and thought nothing more of it. Skeletons were always getting into petty fights. So he sat there, unmoving, until dawn approached.