Some might claim this is an unfortunate thing. Some might even claim it is cruel and yet, perhaps they are oblivious to the pain that can be seen in the eyes of those that possess a weakness. It is something they cannot conceal, an innate part of them, just as any bone or muscle might be. It is why, I think, it is a fortunate thing for us to have taken pity - mercy - upon Abel. He was born weak, saved from Ayal's jaws and yet, I was unable to train the weakness out of him. His leg continues to bend and break beneath his very own weight, a heinous fact that hinders him. Underidge was right. I did take some mercies with him yet, today has come. He has lived long enough with such a weakness and now, it is time to allow him to be freed from it. It is fair.

The heat is thick; the salt clings and putrifies in the breeze, a mugginess that seems to allow the cicadas to sing even louder as they revel in the late summer. It is the hottest day yet, perhaps. It reeks of drying grass, the air alive with the whimper of crackling as the leaves and bark succumb to the warmth. It is not this that interests me though. In the air, there is the presence of burning. From a distance, I can see the faint white and silver smoke that puffs up from the shoreline. It is a common thing, at times, for the driftwoods and weeds by the treeline to catch alight. It is the time we have anticipated, expected, desired.

Abel is so very unaware. He is unaware that I can feel his heart beat with subtle excitement; he does not know that I spy the limp in his stride, hear the way his back limb seeks to drag through the sand. Grating, persistent, unneeded. I do not speak, only lead. He knows we are going somewhere to help him, he simply does not know what it is that such help entails.

When Underidge calls, I respond immediately. I summon him forward, sure that he knows what it is that he must do: be as a shadow. I focus my attention on the fire then, only several yards away as I urge Abel towards it to investigate. It is his first time, after all, experiencing the dazzling dance of crimson and gold together with such heat. The way they crackle and spit, leaping from branch to grass and back again. Even as I keep my distance, I can feel the heat billowing in the wind.

"The day you were born," I begin as I take a slow calculated step, the beginnings of a wide circle, "you were given a chance." This seems to make him give pause, at least momentarily as he considers something he does not remember. "As a child, you were given many more." I pause, then, but for a moment to scan the treeline as I move to Abel's front, essentially operating as a blockade as I await Underidge's arrival. "Perhaps I have failed you, brother," my tone is suddenly sharper, more pointed as my head dips low, my hackles twitching upon my back, "but not today. Today, your pain will be alleviated."