Joseph nodded his head. "Do you want more soup?" He held up a tin can that had been warming up on the hotpot.

The night air moved between the two figures, huddled in rags and scarves. One old, one young. One is responsible for ending the world and the other for restoring it. Or so the old man had told Joseph when he knocked on his cabin door this morning.

There was a 'tsk' as the grumpy vagabond snatched the soup. "I hate mushrooms," he muttered under his breath. Still, he ate it and for that Joseph was happy. He stretched out on his back on the forest floor. It was quiet and had been quiet for about a week now. Joseph still couldn't get used to it.

His eyes followed the stars. The stars are so much cleared now, Joseph thought to himself.

There was a rustling from the bushes behind the pair. Joseph sat up, alert. The old man paused mid-bite, spoon in mouth, his hand reaching into his coat pocket.

A rabbit jumped out or at least something that resembled a rabbit. It was a bit larger with too many eyes and rows of teeth. Joseph felt his breath stir the air. The rabbit sniffed at the blades of grass and then jumped back into the foliage.

There was a sigh of relief from both of them as they resumed their separate activities. Joseph watched as the old man pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. "You never told me what that is."

"It's a message. I have to deliver it but don't know to who." He handed it to Joseph. It looked like a chicken scratch with symbols doodled on.