Winds of Change, or The Flight of Abiathar.

The massacre was happening again; the sword of Doeg was spilling blood, crushing ephods.

He saw infants crumpled in the dust from falling off their dead mother's arms as the sword stabbed then ripped out in a gush of blood. He saw old men, priests, eyes wild as they ran helplessly from pursuing soldiers, and his own father writhing on the ground by the foot of Doeg. And then he was running, running...

He woke up with a start, brushing off the tears that stained his face, and the animal that was chewing on his bruised feet. He opened his eyes: stars above him, grass below him, trees around him... and memories inside him.

They were dead, they were all dead.

His whole life, everything he knew, his family, his possessions, his beloved... Everything gone forever. There are some hurts that cannot be expressed, some pains that are too big for tears and too heavy for sorrow. He could only stare numbly into the night, praying he would dream again: another vision to pretend that he was with his family once more, if only to watch them die.

The creature had begun to chew on his feet again; this time he didn't care. He just didn't care anymore.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I shall search for The Man Whose Life Is Wanted By The Murderer of My Father. I have gone on enough for the day. Tonight... tonight, I shall rest.