He lay panting, up in a fork in one of the many black trees of Limelight. Each ragged break he took pained him to the core of his soul. His whole body seemed to ache with a deep weariness.

Hatred boiled inside him as he looked down at his pathetic, skeletal body. His hatred extended beyond his loathing at his current physical shell, to the many shadows that inhabited this land of black and white.

Though, none of these hatreds matched his hatred of Serpent Tongue. He clambered up onto one of the branches that made up his fork. He stared down at another, nearby tree. The pale gray light illuminated the figured of a women hanging from one of the branches. Her head twisted slowly to look at him, the cold dead eyes playing over him before she looked back at the ground.

His hands started to reach for the knife on his belt. The memory of the last time he had tried to kill the witch stopped him from grabbing the knife. The pain of his last attempt flashed across his body. He curled back up in his fork to sleep.