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80 Amit Bobrov
remember running, though — running as hard and fast as my
feet could carry me. I also remember the screams throbbing in

my ears, echoing in my heart; the screams of dying men. So I
wondered, and dreaded that I might be next.
I remember rain washing over me as I kept running. The
searing heat of the fire combined with the freezing cold of hail
and rain made me feel I was truly and utterly in hell. I wasn’t so
sure anymore that I was even alive. Perhaps I did die that day,
and my restless ghost lingers in the battlefield, suffering for the
crimes I had committed.
Regardless of my thoughts, I ran until deep forest encompassed

me for many leagues, and there was a peculiar sound of ringing
bells just before my head hit the ground. I felt muck soak my
face, and muted, watched a horseman who raced past me. I
was struck by him. The utter dread of death claimed me, and
in a desperate act I held still and would not move, hardly
breathing, my eyes open, gazing into nothing. Transfixed on
whatever was in-front of me. I had hoped and prayed inside for

him to think me dead. Perhaps he left. I was so transfixed that I
no longer registered the outside world. Eventually, exhausted,
I fell asleep.
When I woke up a person stood above me. He seemed rather
old and forest- worn, yet not so old as to be weak. His hawk
nose attracted my attention the most, as it seemed too big for
his face. His dark eyes were somewhat sunken and his leather
cap gave the impression that he was half-hawk and half-man.
“Boy, are ye alright?” He asked, in an accent that reminded

me somewhat of a person I knew yet could not recollect. I tried
to move, yet felt too numb and heavy to accomplish it. I opened
my mouth to speak, yet could not remember the word ‘yes’ in
the common tongue. I strained to think, yet could not focus on