As the sun set the evening horizon on fire Nigsummu began to feel unwell. His head was throbbing and when he rubbed the area on top, above the brow, there were two small lumps. By nightfall the lumps were quite prominent.
He found a small grove of trees and walked into the centre where he was hidden by the trunks and low, leafy branches. He sat down, his back against one of the thicker trunks. His eyesight was blurry such was the searing pain in his head. He pressed his head between his hands, but the pressure did little to relieve the excruciating pain. He doubled over, falling into the leave litter, weeping in agony.
For two days he didn’t move. His stomach rumbled and the area was ripe with the smell of his own waste. The pain in his head remained, threatening to drive him at any moment to take his own life. And each time he felt the lumps they seemed larger.
Finally on the third day he felt well enough to look for water. He used his senses to locate the life-giving liquid and used the trees to support him until he felt strong enough to leave them behind and stagger to the small pool of cool water. He drank like an animal, swallowing great mouthfuls down, gagging once but continuing until his chest was soaking and his thirst was satisfied.
Only when the ripples and bubbles had cleared did Nigsummu see them. Horns. Twin horns on his head, just above his forehead. He brought his hands to them and explored them with his fingers. They were hard and smooth; the skin at the base red and painful to the touch. His demon heritage was catching up with him.
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