Nash sprinted to the stone slab and collapsed to his knees with a thud.
His eyes were fixed on the man lying on the slab.
'Father.'
His father lay there quietly, his face ashen.
The once-vibrant face was now lifeless, his eyes shut tight as if he had sunk into a profound sleep.
Only the faint, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest gave any indication that he still clung to this world by a fragile thread.
Nash's thoughts churned like a stormy sea.
Scenes from his time with his father flashed through his mind.
He remembered his father taking him hunting in the forest as a child, patiently teaching him how to track prey and draw a bow. Back then, his father's eyes were filled with love and expectation.
He remembered the two of them sitting by the river, listening to his father recount the tribe's ancient legends, those mysterious stories seeming to echo in his ears even now.
