EIGHT
Vasco's stomach growled, reminding him that it has been many hours since he had eaten his last crust of bread. The incessant hunger pangs were almost enough to make him forget the pain in his knee. In battle, he had scarcely felt the prick of the arrow as it worked its way between his armour, so it was a cruel twist of fate indeed that with every step he took, he had to grit his teeth as pain pierced his knee again and again. Such a small wound had yet made him unfit for war, so his commanding officer had kindly chosen to send him home.
For a married man, or one with any family at all, this would be a blessing. For Vasco, whose entire family had been slaughtered before his village was burned to the ground by the enemy, it was the worst kind of curse. No home, no family, nowhere to
