“I knew it was spring,” he murmurs, his head still hanging as he gets back on track, “because the riverbank was seriously muddy. Like, I kept slipping in it, couldn’t keep my footing, annoying as hell. In winter, it’s frozen solid. In summer, it’s so dry that the dirt…puffs up in the air.”
He sighs, raising his eyes to mine, and shrugs. And I smile a little, a small part of me really liking the idea that he told the passing of the year by how difficult it was not to slip and fall face-first into a river. But I don’t say anything, just letting him continue.
“They sent us out, one day, to collect wood, of all things.” His face screws up in confusion. “And you have to understand, Ari, like…we didn’t collect wood – not me and the guys from my barracks. We were warriors at this point – not ev
