And if that was not enough, his nightmares grew violent. Ever since travelling to the beast's cave, a dragon as many called it, he had been struck with pains of the past. Those who fell around him, people who deserted their comrades for the sake of their pitiful lives...those who stole gold from the dead. It was not a sight he wished to see. And now travelling heralds were speaking of such things like they were to be celebrated. Spreading word of fortunes from stealing dragon eggs...what fool would go back?
Perhaps he would...only if he was able to lift the damn thing. He couldn't do it alone. Perhaps there would be hopefuls willing to drag his slowing body along so he could have a share in profit.
What did it matter? He was growing old, and had already lost the joy and happiness in his life. So, he continued to pick herbs and roots for his potions, allowing himself to be drenched in the cold and the wet, up to the knees in muggy water.
Things just weren't the same since she passed on...