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Long ago in a distant land full of green trees and wind as soft as a warm blanket on a cold winter night, there was a young boy named Rolaan, who wanted nothing more than to have adventures and see the world for himself. He was a young boy that cradled a fierce spirit within him to reach his dreams. From day to day he would help his parents clean the meat they hunted wishing he could be doing something more extravagant than these simple chores he knew. He wanted to be more like both of his parents who were praised as the strongest warriors of their village. They went out to hunt the most dangerous of animals when their village was in need of food, but never allowed their son to venture out of the village borders with them, for they knew all too well the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of the fires.

Rolaan had to resign himself to daydreams about the day he would be old enough to be recognized as a man among the villagers and be permitted to go on his first hunt alone. He imagined himself finally proving his grand strength to everyone, especially he hoped to the watchful eyes of his parents. Life passed by in its flowing pattern for Rolaan, with mornings spent playing and learning while he would settle down in the late afternoons to help cleaning and preparing the meat that would be eaten by the people of his village. Nights were his favorite as he would spend time studying the gleaming stars all around, and wondered if he would ever come to be something special like that.

One night, looking up at the luminous full moon above, its surface glowing a dull yellow like the mighty wolf's eye, Rolaan laid awake in bed, his eyes fixated on that largest gem in the night sky. He wished with all his might that he may one day become a hero like his father; big and strong, so that everyone would whisper his name on the wind. His eyes wavered, and sleep finally overcame him. His dreams that night were full of sounds and sights the likes of which he had never seen before. Dancing white crystals fell through the air, and the voice of the wind could be seen running all throughout the valleys.

And he felt a curious sensation all throughout his body, like the only solid part of him was his heart, the rest of his body loose and flowing. He looked up to see a range of purples and reds in the sky, with a single, lone star remaining that shined bright against the rising sun. He begrudgingly got out of bed after being awoken by the cries of his father wanting his son to hurry and not let the day pass him by. The dream left him wondering, and more than that wanting. Thoughts of it cycled throughout his mind nearly every moment of the day until he was nearly consumed by it. His normally steady hands were lazy and unfocused, and it was the first time he was asked to find a different job for the day to help the village when he accidentally ran his knife through the innards of the animal he was working on.

His parents that night called him to their room, and settled him on their bed with the slow crackle of the fire around them. His dad wrapped Rolaan tightly in his arms, almost smothering him with his might to the point it felt almost as he was transferring to his boy the very force that made him so strong. His father with a low bellow to his voice,roughened by years of the hunt told his son then, "Rolaan, times are very difficult for our village. Our people grow more and more hungry with each passing day. Our ground bears less of the fruit that sweetens our days, and finding meat to fill our bellies at night requires us to venture far, far away from our village. I do not think our people will survive by next harvest if no fortune comes our way."

Rolaan, confused and bewildered only looked up at his father then with questioning eyes, not understanding the full implications of his message covered by the true innocence of youth. Rolaan's father gave him the biggest, most confident and broad smile, nearly tucking away the pain in his eyes as he looked squarely at his son. "We must go now my young one, and find the means to keep our people alive. I am not certain when we will return, but I promise you that we will never be far from you. Our eyes shall always watch over you." Rolaan's father bent low, kissed his son softly on his forehead, and removed a set of black and ruby beads from his wrist, and slipped it on his son's arm, the much-too-large bracelet dangling loosely from Rolaan prepared to fall off at any moment.

"So you will not forget my son."

His mother then took her turn to hug him close, run her hand through his hair one mire time, and smiled at him. Rolaan still confused had his mouth open. "But...". With a voice as smooth as fresh cream his mother spoke, "I am sorry, but this is for your good and the good of many." His parents then rose, slung their bow and arrows across their back, and left their hut without looking back into the warm fire of their home where their child stood still confused at the window. For as strong as they were physically, they knew if they glanced back, they wouldn't have the strength to carry out their duty.

When his parents shapes disappeared behind the trees, Rolaan sat back for a moment, pondered, and finally realizing the enormity of his loss, wept into the bed where his mother and father had laid just a night ago, their warm smell still clinging to the mix of straw, grass, and cloth.