[ TT ] The fire dies and the darkness encroaches .

Two left. 
 
 Ca n't forage for more until daylight, and that's hours away. 
 
 The fire is more embers than flames, and I have two branches left. 
 
 Two. To last hours. I'd cry if I thought it would do any good. 
 
 I weigh them, one in each hand, and toss the lighter of the two into the firepit. The light flares and something yelps and scurries away. 
 
 One left. 
 
 I can hear them, beyond the light, snuffling and grunting and scratching and wailing. I can hear them waiting for the light to die. They only hunt in darkness. 
 
 I jerk awake. The fire is nothing more than a dull red glow. Cursing myself for a fool, I toss the last branch into the embers and pray to gods that have never answered. 
 
 It catches, flaring and blinding me. All around me, bestial screams of frustration ring out. 
 
 None left. 
 
 They are hungry. 
 
 Compulsively, I go through my pack, hoping that I have missed something, something that will burn, that will keep my soul and body joined until dawn. 
 
 I have n't missed anything. There is no salvation, no miracle. No hope. 
 
 The gold, the jewels, the priceless artifacts that lured me to this place, that gleam and sparkle so wondrously in the daylight, might as well be sand and rocks in the darkness. Their light is stolen. 
 
 Helplessly, I start laughing. Their beauty is a reflection! I am going to die, tonight, in the most gruesome manner imaginable, for a bag of mirrors! I can hear the laughter echoing, hysterical. 
 
 In the shadows, my audience continues stalking, growing closer as the flames die down. 
 
 Soon, I stare transfixed, as the last flame wavers, flickering. 
 
 From beyond the shrinking pool of light, I hear a new tone in the roars and growls. Anticipation? Hunger? 
 
 The lone flame, my beacon, stutters and dies. 
 
 
 

