[h3]The Hunter's Dream[/h3]
“I... I don't...” Torquil muttered when Ophelia asked if he was all right, looking around fearfully as he straightened into a wary stance. And indeed, he really [I]did not[/I] know if he was all right; though he could plainly tell that the wound that had been inflicted on him had already healed, and had been since a second after the dagger had been pulled from his flesh, something still felt bizarrely [I]wrong[/I]. He could feel his mind racing in a way he could not remember it ever had, flitting rapidly from thought to thought, dredging up unpleasant feelings... and worst of all, [I]memories[/I]. His mind kept flashing back to him sitting alone in his cabin, to him felling trees and cutting wood, to him hiding among the leaves and watching people from the communities. He was sad, lonely, angry, aroused, frustrated, scared and so, so very full of such bottomless hate for everything in the world, especially himself. He swayed dizzily and could feel the skin around the area where the dagger had pierced him vibrating, and it felt as though it crawled with a life of its own.
From the workshop, the Shopkeeper and the doll emerged and ran – the Shopkeeper several times faster than the doll – toward them.

“I think –” Torquil began to try to answer their questions, but before he could get out another word, the skeletal fingers of a luminous hand abruptly grabbed his chin from behind, as the apparition seemed to spring back into existence as swiftly as it had disappeared. Before anyone could react, it drew the serrated edge of its silver dagger across Torquil's throat.