That night, I dream. And in my dream, I see my kin. They are gathered around me as I carve into the hide of a monster, spilling its life’s blood onto the ground. Their eyes are solemn, and they don’t say a word, merely watch in judgment.
When I wake up, I feel empty. I don't know whether they would approve of me now or not. Would they, if they were still alive? I suppose it doesn’t matter. After all, if they were still here, I would have no reason to hunt the monsters.
Lying in the dark, I remember the feel of blood running down my arms, of my joy at ending that monster’s existence. I still feel a burning vindication deep in my chest, even while I know the others are still lamenting their lost friend. I don’t know whether I should join them or not. I doubt it. After all, I didn’t really know him. Instead, I leave them to their private mourning. There’s no reason for me to interfere.
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