The dancing flames flickered in the centre of the crackling logs that erupted with a burst of floating embers that drifted away into the night sky as though they longed to be stars. Caught in the light nightly breeze, the flames swayed like charmed serpents, tasting the air with their forked tongues of fire. The blaze danced hypnotically, almost appearing to paint a yellow series of images within its orange canvas.
Sitting in a hunched over position atop the log he used as a bench, Drake stared in awe into the enchanting flames as they attempted to draw him in closer like the burning fingers of a waving temptress. He could feel the smouldering heat kiss his face gently, the heat creating the illusion that he was blushing.
The rest of the village had gathered around the inferno that hungrily devoured the timber wood with its scorching teeth. They all huddled around the bonfire, either perched upon a circle of logs around the timber pile or simply squatting or lying down on the bare earth that was beginning to crust due to the inferno’s immense heat. The grass around them adopted a slight orange shade as the flaming aura lit up the surrounding field, causing the field to appear like a meadow that had been set alight.
The occurrence was normal for the small remote settlement of Erratus, meaning town of the lost. Once a month the village hosted a social gathering in which all the villagers could converse and exchange pleasantries to help maintain strong relations with everyone else they shared their home with.
Erratus was nothing spectacular as far as villages go; just a remote settlement structured mostly out of timber and stone, and only really harboured farmers and people living simple lives. The village had a blacksmith and a general goods shop, and it even had its own set of hunters who also served as the village’s protectors, should such a time ever come, though they all knew the hunters alone wouldn’t be able to fend of such a threat.
“Drake,” hissed a voice from behind Drake, causing his hypnotised state to shatter and return his conscious mind. Turning to face the source of the sound, Drake’s eyes met the eyes of a young women of similar age to him, which he assumed was somewhere between eighteen and twenty, though he had no way to know for sure. All he knew was she was nineteen, and she was his close friend, Jolie, the shepherd’s daughter.
Jolie was a pretty young woman, which was something no one could deny, although she was also simplistic and in many ways she would merely blend in amongst a crowd. She had indistinctive locks of chestnut brown hair that fell perfectly straight down her back, and her face, although appealing, had no distinguishing features. Her eyes were simple spheres of chestnut brown, and even her attire was a simple bland gown with a slight hint of yellow.
“You were doing it again,” Jolie whispered as she sat herself down beside Drake, ensuring she dusted of the log bench first before taking her seat. When Drake simply blinked as a sign of confusion, she sighed as she realised he had been unaware of what he was doing, as per usual. “You were gawking at the flames again.”
“I was?” Drake asked with shrug, not too concerned by his unusual spacing out, as it was a common occurrence he could not entirely explain. His fascination with the flames served no function, nor did he ever gain anything from his observation, however they never failed to captivate him whenever they blazed.
Drake was as equally uninteresting as Jolie, with his only distinctive features being the scars that carved across his body, especially the one hidden beneath his oakland brown jacket. Across his chest was a ravaging jagged cross shaped scar that layered above his heart. He’d no memory of how he’d acquired such a devastating scar, although he didn’t recall anything beyond his first awakening in the meadows outside the village just over a year ago. He had a shaggy mop of chestnut brown hair that appeared somewhat sharp as it wildly lunged in all directions. His eyes glistened with a sea blue tint, and his left eye even had a pinkish scar gorging through the flesh just above and below it. Miraculously his eye had remained untouched; although, it’s not like he remembered how he’d gained that scar either. However, the most intriguing things about his eyes were the hollowness within them, as they appeared to harbour no emotion, like empty husks of a departed spirit.
