The Dark Citadel

When he first heard the sound, he passed it off as wind rustling through the trees. It was like a soft whooshing in the air above him, and he only asserted importance to it when he heard cries from off the right side of camp.

The captain spoke again: “If it is any consolation, the wound to your stomach missed all of your vital organs and did minor damage. You should recover fully within a few days,” the captain said. “You should be fully healed by the time of your execution.”

Gregory awoke tied down on a wooden surface, unable to move. Waves of agony rippled through his body, and it felt as though someone had jammed a hot poker into his stomach. His memory started flooding back, and he realized how close to the truth that was.

They went outside, where he saw two soldiers waiting, and then on down the street. His legs felt like rubber, and it was all he could do to stay calm.

He ducked into the first shop he saw on the next street over and crouched behind a rack of hats. Less than twenty seconds later, the soldiers sprinted past the doorway and down the street, cursing.

Ten steps away from the crates, Gregory heard scrambling behind him. He had finally realized where Gregory was heading.

With a shrug, he shouldered his pack and began walking down the primary thoroughfare. He was confident in his decision to seek out the caravan, now that he had made it, and was glad that he’d managed to motivate himself.

After careful thought and much deliberation, Gregory Colton decided the days were too long in these northern countries.