Barron spent each day mapping the streets and buildings of the city. He made sure he interacted and met with people everywhere he went so that each night he could write in the blank pages left by Wilson in the key journal as Barron had named the book. In his mind he was building a world of adventure that he could open and go anywhere within. Every area with its own pages documented so well he could smell the aroma of the food stalls at night and feel the rain on his skin just by opening the pages of his key journal.
Having drawn a dragon that went from back of journal around spine to the front he gave the world a gaurdian of its very own. At night his fingers would follow along the lines of the intricately drawn dragon remembering his mother as he would drift to sleep. Dreams of adventures with Wilson fighting beast and man as they sought riches and journey filled his head.
One rather dreary night, which London seemed to manifest in an abundance Barron was slowly awakened to a rustle down the alley. His eyes became instantly sharp knowing while the thrill of adventure was now his calling the shadows could hide an evil abyss that had no bottom to the damage and despair it could swallow. Slowly moving to the dark himself reaching the blade that sat upon his back and inching it out of its scabbard he prepared for the worst case imaginable. Slowing his breathing as his memories of being grabbed off the street and locked away for years of torture at the front of his mind. He took control the best he could and near vanishing among the deep shadows he proceeded down the alleyway checking every inch to prevent an ambush. As he reached some rubbish bins near the street his heart was pounding like war drums on his chest. Moving around his eyes fell on an older man holding his chest as clung to life. Blood soaked the man's clothes causing Barron's eyes to dart down both ways of the street seeing no signs of anyone. Having no idea how the man could have even made it here in his condition he took hold of the man's coat neck with both hands and started dragging him back down the alley toward his small camp. The odd sight of a small boy dragging a full grown man down a dark London alley going unseen as the night passed by and the sun began to rise.
Finally getting the man back around to his camp where they could remain unseen he started a small fire. Catching his breath as the embers came to life he put a pot of water to boil. Barron began to assess the old man finding a cut from his right shoulder to left hip. He was amazed the man who looked to be of elder years was still alive with such a massive wound and seeming to have lost so much blood. Barron tore some cloth into rags and put into the pot and pulling a few out onto a clean plate to take over to the man that lay in the makeshift back alley surgery room. He slowly removed the man's cloak and laid him back on a thick blanket. Cleaning the wound it seemed to have been one long clean cut making Barron think of how sharp the weapon must have been to have made this injury as it seemed to have even slashed into a few ribs and never slowed as the blade passed down toward the hip. After a few hours of cleaning and swaping rags only to clean more the entire wound was clean and now dry.
Barron looking at the wound and said well guess it's time for part two old friend. Rummaging through his bag pulling out a small box opening it to reveal thread and needles of various sizes. Getting a sturdy thread and hooked needle he started at the hip of the old man and taking his time slowly stitching the man back together. Having been on the street and then being deprived in the workhouse had learned early on how to sew in order to repair his clothes in order not to freeze in winter. This aided in his meticulous work as he perfectly stitched the man who at the time it felt like he had nearly been severed in two. The sun rose and dipped as Barron worked but it took as long as it took being a man's torso and not an old shirt or blanket. From time to time he stopped just long enough to take a bite of bread and a drink of water and diligently went back to work.
Just as the sun began to sit in the evening Barron leaned back sweat dripping from his brow, he smiled at his painstakingly precise work. The job of a pro if I do say so myself Barron said with pride. Cleaning and bandaging the man he covered him with a blanket. He then began to prepare for night. Building up the fire and securing his small camp to hold in the warmth. Barron leaned back to relax as he took out the key journal and wrote of his day as an alleyway surgeon. Noting the stress and burden he felt through the day as the thought he may cause the man's death if his work was in anyway inadequate. Drawing a portrait of the man including with the wound shown stitched closed. As the fire continued to burn Barron finished writing in his book . Laying back looking at the stars. He was amped from the day so his mind was still wandering. Looking at the stars more deeply he decided to get his journal noted the day and began to sketch the sky. Trying to place every star bright or dim onto the paper. He had a feeling that he was seeing something but it was just out of his reach. The copy of the sky would be placed here under the journals protection so he could gaze into it anytime in the future. The feeling was new and having spent so many night under these same stars why now would he have a reaction to them. A chuckle as he thought maybe my dreams of magical realms are slowly making me crazy. Thinking maybe madness itself may in some kind of way could be an interesting adventure too. Who is to say what the mad see is false just because to the sane it remains unseen. Then Barron said to himself "What odd thought right, well I guess freedom of the body would include freedom of the mind". As Barron's mind continues to run down this rabbit hole his eyelids became heavy and slowly they closed and sealed the world out but letting his mind open up.