Check out the update to The Eyes of God:

Throwing my head up out of the pond, I laughed. Wiping my eyes clear, blurry lights began to emerge. They were reflections upon the surface, indistinct streaks of white interrupted by the little lapping waves of the disturbed water. For some time I simply stared at them, captivated by this abundance after the absence of either water or, of late, even light, and this play, this interaction between the two, was wonderful to behold. So, my eyes did not even look up to see what source produced this luminance.

Presently, I know not when, I did break from my wonder, and chancing to look up, my sight traveled beyond the opposing bank to where three men were encircling a campfire. It had been a month or more since I’d any sight of man, that is man free of rot and decay, and like the water and the light, this vison overwhelmed me. I stared at them, dumb. They no mind paid, but about their work progressed, which was the frying of meats, the passing of ale, and the pleasant discourse of friends. The meat was cooked, and they all shared in the sizzling flesh.

One man spoke, “They’ll come again tonight.”

The statement was spoken after something of a lull, a gentle quietness succeeding their dinner, but produced another form of silence. All the men became still, as if recalling memories that turned the meal sour inside them. The company grew mute thereafter.