“A bugle called somewhere to the north, the sound wafting on the early-morning breeze. It was the signal: disbanded troops were to assemble around the flag. The three men got up, taking their weapons. They were about to set off, looking for one last time at the remains of the fire, when Flem came running through the long grass. His boots were white with dust.‘I’ve run so fast I can’t tell you where I’ve been. Trees were whizzing around me. The sound of my footsteps lulled me into a weird sle...ep; my eyes shut but I kept on running, not even slowing down.‘I reached a deserted hill. The hot sun beat down on the rocks; I couldn’t stop running because my soles would burn. I hurried to the top.‘There I was, busting a gut, when I noticed another man, climbing slowly. He wore a crown of thorns. He carried a heavy load on his shoulders, and his face was soaked in sweat. He found it hard going, stumbling at every step.‘The ground was burning hot; I couldn’t watch him struggle.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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