Pleasure and pain. Life and death. The beginning and the ending. Everything with a loud scream. And the sound of silence. Then nothing at all but a lost lamb in the deepest darkest swap land in the South. The desert is no longer around not in slight. Where did blind eyes and broken feet wander? Why did they follow information of a failing hope?

They laugh. They laugh at me. Between the crumbled cities and the ghosts of the past. They laugh at me. I trail down this path. With only one thought left in me. I have nowhere else to go now, but forward after this failing hope. They told me in Vegas to follow the wind. I am to follow the wind and there I would find Jefe. I, Sin, would find my beloved. This way they said would lead to Jackie and Cruz. The last goblins in the city that had spotted Jefe alive.

So I went. I kept going. I did not stop. I did not rest. I pushed on as Poncho told me to. Still they laugh at me with my devotion. The Creators laugh. They laugh at my failings. They laugh at the foolishness I have caused. Here in this swap... Here in this swap I have before known not the loneliness of this. I have a voice. I have a voice I can use... But only the shadows to talk to ... Before in my silence, I had Poncho. Now the shadows. Should I be afraid of the day the shadows talk back?

The crippling feeling comes from the shadows having eyes and hands and they reach out for me when I stop. The feeling under the full moon I can still hear the cries of the werewolves. The screams of Crystal for help. The conches from the other hunters for distress. And the fires... The fires ate my village whole and round.

What comes now? What watch me in the moonlight as I hid? As I hid here in the damp trees, there they are watching the glowing eyes stare at me. They are laughing at me. They are smiling and laugh. I am lost. I am not to be found. But I push on. I push on.

I have a string of memory still of everything, despite the whispers. The shadows of the swamp now speak. Oh they have stolen my language from me. They took it on easily without much problem. Most likely from the fact I shouted at them. I told them to stand back. But they do speak in muttered tones to themselves. They try to confuse me. They try and make me rest and now continue. Try and make me forget. They think I will be happier without memory. They have tried to steal many things from me. They have stolen my color. I am not brown anymore. I am gray. I am gray as gray can be.

Yet I have my memories still! Heheheh! I have a memory still here in this journal. All of my entries prove I am who I think I am. I have my name still. My name, my real name. I have it nice and safe here in my journal. The shadows can have my color. But my real name they cannot! Not my memories either! Oh I am clever! With this journal I am not lost!

Watch you shadows! Watch you! I will find my way.

I have recorded the Tale of the Tall people. I have written all my remembrance of myths and ghosts. I wrote all about the different clan members. You know? Without the shaman to keep them, who is to know them? Me. Yes, I can be the whole clan in this journal. But ... But the shadows stole these pages from me. They took every bit of my story! They found my journal. They stole!

I killed some of those nasty shadows with my gun. I did. Yes. I didn't say a word to them. I just smiled and shot at them. I killed them dead. I gained silence from those shadows. Silence at last.

I awoke with a start this morning. In the depths of the shades, something that wasn't the shadows. No these were goblins. Goblins with an old human. They spoke. I mean speak. They did approach me. I threaten to shoot them if they touched me or my journal. I would not surrender easily. Not without a fight! Not without a fight!

They speak, "Daniel? Daniel is that you?"

I shout at them, "Back away shadow offspring!"

What language did I just speak? What it Russian? English? Or Spanish? Is this the time to wonder about time? Should I be worried about something? When did I last have food or sleep? I should get my watch repaired... I am searching for something here in the swamp. Something... And I was doing something... Everything here is a blank.

Tell me, have I gone mad? From swamp to dry place with bed. Or dry place with the dead. Two faces long lost sit by dying firelight whispering over things. A third face not seen since the village's fall haunts further back with a jar of liquid and a human. One of them by the fire holds out Poncho's poncho. He had that not since we left the village. It burnt up... How did they get it?

Does one go mad from madness? Or do they not know they are mad? For who else did those voices speak? I taught them language. They stole it from me. And I lost my voice again and regained only to lose.

Memories do fade and shadows do rob me. But the journal tells all I can tell. Despite the shadows stealing from poor me. He warned me against this you know. Poncho warned me. I swear by the Creators I am not mad! This is an enchantment. It must be magic from the wicked swamp.

I have my name still! I still have my real name. You cannot steal it from me.

They the goblins three and the human old woman linger about me like bees. I can name the goblin three. I know them! Oh I know them as fate is funny. The one with the cheery voice and outstanding love for cat must be Cruz. He is an odd green. But everything else about him remains the same. The one with a large knife suggesting they just kill me. Oh he is Jackie! He is Jackie as only Jackie could be Jackie. He is fearsome now with older eyes. But that is him. The last one, the last one with a missing leg and scarred face. He must be Sancho. How else would he know of the Dust Eaters!?

And the old woman? I know her not. She speaks not loudly. The old woman hands the goblins liquids and they force it in me. I am not strong enough to fight them. My body no longer obeys me. I blame the shadows as they run off with my pages from my journal. I only have my journal hidden with me.

The goblins three and the old woman took my clothing, my pack, my gun, and my hat. I just get these sheets and sleeping wear. Bind my hand and my feet from running. Yet I still manage to write. I am not all too aware of how to escape now. My mind goes quiet each time the liquids come to me. But I will think of something. These ropes will not bind forever.

"Hush now, you will awake her with a fright. She comes more to herself each day. Now away with all of you I say," The old woman commands. She sends Cruz, Jackie, and Sancho to the far reaches of the room or outside.

I watch that old woman. She has stopped forcing the liquid down my throat. I have jumped for my gun to fire on her. Too slow she was. But there were no bullets. The old woman was wise. Today she sets me free from the bindings.

Softly she starts, "You are Daniel E. Villa they tell me. You were made chief of the Dust Eaters until the real chief returned. Correct, sugar?"

Rubbing my hands, I dart my eyes about the room. The shadows are still here, but they do not talk. They only lick at edges of the room. I say very, very, very slowly, "Yes and no..."

"Yes and no?" She blinks confusedly, "My name is Taylor B. H. Roberts. I know your friends Cruz, Jackie, and Sancho. They bought you here as your brother Poncho could not. You are now in my keep until you are back on your feet. You seem to be better than the last time I tried to talk to you."

"I suppose."

"You do not talk much do you?"

"Not has long has they linger about the room."

"Who?"

"They."

"Who are they?"
"The shadows of the swamp."

This old woman Taylor nods. Nods as she gets it. The shadows are lurking. She understands. The old woman goes on with her niceties for a while. She pours tea and chats and chats. All the while the goblin three are outside doing things. I lean over to watch them. They carry on and on with their doings. Taylor tugs the sheets closer about my body. She touches my head and I jump. No one has touched me since that night in the village.

The old woman draws back her hand. She pays me to mind when I threaten her life. Taylor grins and welcomingly hands me tea. Has she gone mad too? Or am I sane?

Entry elven final summary:

My journal, my journey into the swamp provided me with details about myself and my sanity. It is hard for me to completely describe here what exactly I learned out here in my search. Did I just live a dream about the dead or the living? What was really out there in the swamps? And was there ever anyone named Taylor?

I know not all my marbles were in the right places. There however is a clearness I have not grabbed in my days before this day, the day the old woman lead me out of the swamp and back to the road. My mind has been set straight here.

I suppose I am due to record the correct information I have gathered here. This old woman... She speaks with the dead. She spoke with Cruz and Jackie. They died in the Riots as they were headed to Mexico. They got killed in crossfire from two humans fighting a goblin gang. Sancho died on his way back from the village after defeating a werewolf single handedly. He died from his wounds in battle. Or so Taylor claims. The old woman explained I saw them as I was near death and driven with madness.

Taylor said I had come to will away the illness in my head. I had to sleep and eat once more as I knew there was more in the future. She said I had to stop my own pain by willing it away so I could face the future. That is why I knew the whispering shadows and the beckoning of darkness had to end.

That's when the old woman made my memories of the attack resurface. I could not turn away. I could not hide. I could not even close my eyes. I only screamed and covered my hears. Taylor had not the mercy to spare me. It was there. And if I tried to explain it to you. Would you understand? Would you understand the pain and the suffering?

The death Poncho was the first in the battle. I saw it. I snapped there as the village burned and I remained paralyzed trapped under the body of a werewolf.

Oh my fears linger and sting. You may think me weak. You may curse me. You may hate me. But the truth remains. We all suffered.

(And in my silly cowboy hat and duster coat I survive alone with a pretend Poncho. I had to have something to hang onto. I had my brother and Tombstone. Do you think me still silly with my outfit? What about my obsession with finding Jefe? Or my refusal to speak sometimes? My fear of magic? Or how about werewolves? Andy?)

That's the entire speech the old woman said. She then left back to the swamp. She said something about an old French book being a source of trouble in the current. Muttering about a guy named Robin and his mischief gone too far. I only waved good bye.

Yes, Taylor told me that my heart so badly hurt made Sin. I, Daniel, made Sin. I made Sin Nombre Salgo to live in this new world. As Sin I did things I could not do as Daniel. I killed people I did not want. I just blamed it upon my brother Poncho. I, Daniel, had surrender to sleep so Sin could live. So we could live. So we could find Jefe. So we could we restart. Taylor said Sin was there to hold me together when I no longer had Poncho. Now I am Daniel and I am Sin. That is how I broke and came back together.