“These greats truths that I know are nothing more than mere reflections of what they are understood as. How does one respect and honour reflections?
Spring in its lush colours, contrasting the showers that will bring… ah, damn.”
Looking out over a valley the thoughts of how many more of these plagued his thoughts. This was the second time in less than 48 hours that he had crested a mountain top and thought this time I will see the end, civilization.
The valleys spread out to the horizon. It would be days till he got out. Assuming luck was on his side and he found clean water, good shelter from the beasts at night, and a clear road. Scavengers and pirate-rangers were all about lately. Never a good sign.
He set his surviving belongings out by the side of the road to take an inventory. Field first aid kit, 2 pair dry socks, two changes of tee-shirt and underwear, toothbrush and paste, 9mm pistol, 3 extra loaded magazines, 2 boxes ammo, 1 hunting knife, 3 precision throwing knives (handmade), length of rope, 2 maps: one a topographical map, the other a road map of the area, a compass, 3 boxes waterproof matches, 1 set of German made binoculars, ¼ kilogram of C4 explosives and detonators, a picture and a promise.
He quickly re-packed his gear and went a few hundred feet north to where he knew an old goat track existed. He would be unseen from the road. It would help him a little. And the easier the better. The strong scent of lilacs filled the breeze.
He sucked a couple of times on his teeth and then spat on the earth. There was blood. “Damned rotton teeth”, he thought, “I’m going to need a boast of vitamins.”
The burning in his lungs and legs was beginning to fade into a euphoric sort of state. “1 hour at this pace, half an hour at ½ this pace. Just like in training. Training. Damn that seems a few decades ago.”