It had been late morning, or early afternoon. The world had began to cool, and from the sky fell drops of water that felt like piercing, wet ice. Some creature of the land had foolishly laid waste to the Hermit's refuse under the bright autumn moon, and now ground-killing toxins and creature-slaying poisons were strewn across the grass. In his home, the Hermit said to himself, "Well, that's no good..." He rolled up his pants to brave the freezing rain unprotected. As the first freezing drops fell upon him, he looked to the clouds and asked, grumbling sarcastically; "Don't stop for my sake, okay? I'm just helping you out." And he set out. His bare feet splashed in the icy water, enough to make a normal man shiver... However, the Hermit felt nothing but comfort as his feet went numb. A strange warmness and inner happiness brought on by the biting cold.

As he made his way to the refuse, along the road he spotted an unfamiliar woman... Not often he encountered another of his kind. A chilly wind blew his wild hair wilder, and the stranger exclaimed, "Hey man! How's your morning?" Clearly, the stranger was friendly, clutching her raincloak over her shoulders with a smile on her face, and she even stopped her journey to communicate. However, the Hermit had seen her stop and felt his heart do the same. No, she wasn't stunningly beautiful. He hadn't even thought of that.

He began to cringe, and felt a knot in his stomach. The stranger, seeing his response, ushered a frown. "Are you okay?" She asked him, as his eyes showed fear. "Do you need help?" She prodded. But as she took a step closer, the Hermit had darted away through the bushes, not to make another sound. What had he been thinking? Well, to put it simply... He hadn't. He simply hadn't been thinking. Somehow, fear had taken the better of him. Had he been any other man, he would have greeted the woman with a warm smile on the chilly day, and told her about his day. However, he was no normal man. No, he was a barefoot, sleeveless hermit, who's response to a friendly smile was utter terror. In his fear, he had simply ran. The stranger stood, for some time... Wondering, "What just happened? Should I get someone?" And he remained quiet in fear. She left, eventually... And the Hermit felt relief. The moment she had vanished over the crux of the road, his mind returned. As if he had undergone some monstrous transformation, but with a twist of fear, he had became another person. He looked to the bush, and saw the damage he had done. He felt the leaves he had dislocated and like a madman whispered... "I am sorry."

Had he intended to apologize to the long-passed stranger, or was he speaking to the shrub he had damaged? Once he regained his bearings, he headed to the now close litter strewn across the frosted grass. Crickets chirped delightedly in the composting, rotted degradable pieces, and a few rotworms inched around looking for something to eat. Kneeling down, he examined the scene... Foul creatures of shadow and decay had already found the Hermit's refuse, however, he felt no pit in his stomach. He felt not even a twinge of contempt. He had simply said, as if to a child; "You are a loud one, aren't you? Why, if I ate crickets, you'd be dead as I speak." And he nudged the little black bug's shelter, goading it back to its normal home to sing its song there. Loudly he proclaimed, "Alright, if you don't want to get wet, leave now." He gave a few moments for the trash-dwellers to flee...

After some time, and after what insects feared his voice had fled away, he began to pick up what he could bear to touch barehanded. He spent careful time to ensure he left as little mark as he could. Worms crawled on his bare feet, but he payed no token of fear to them. After his bag was full of what he could salvage, it was time for the previous, broken bag to be moved as well... A simple task, however as he stuck his hand beneath the bag and lifted, a sleeping serpent had been disturbed...

The Hermit was as familiar with the animals of his home as the trees that dot the landscape he cared so deeply for. The serpent, terrified, was familiar as well. He knew its marks as the lethal riverwyrm, lover of dark and wet places, though normally only found in water. He was wary to touch it, but remained calm as he unearthed it. He knew as soon as he spotted it that his fate was in the hands of the world... And the world was cruel. The wyrm lashed out in terror, snapping jaws and saber fangs out at the Hermit, who reeled in fear of its terrible venom.

But... By fates own hand, the serpent's attack had missed. Had it only been a warning, despite being cornered and agitated? Had it thought it had in fact struck true, and its venom would kill him? For it fled into the grass, toward the cellar of the Hermit, where it is often damp and full of puddles of prey to boot. He pulled back his lucky hand as the slithering wyrm ran, and looked closely for marks of a dead man. He didn't feel any of the symptoms of the venom's syndrome, and his hands were clear of marks. He caressed the grass and looked to the falling rain and said aloud with relief, "Thank you, I won't forget that."

...But, why hadn't the Hermit been traumatized? Why wasn't he running? Why, at the sight of a serpent, was he not revolted and filled with primal fear?

As he calmly finished his work, he encountered a few more of its kind, adorned with the markings of the common leafwyrms, a harmless and, to the Hermit, adorable neighbor. He set the refuse back into its safely contained bin, and rubbed the disgusting leftovers from his hands onto the puddled stone. He peeked into the hole to which the frightened serpent fled, and said to the darkness, "Good luck, little buddy. Sorry I scared you." And after tending to the berry vines that climbed his wall by no choice of his own, he returned to his home, wet, numb, but warm inside, to write his experiences down for others to read...