'Some fool once said, pain is weakness leaving the body.  That's a bunch of bunk.  Pain is just pain.  I've been traipsing all over these lands for over thirteen years.  Weakness left my body long before that.  And pain?  It comes and goes, like an old relative who's worn out his welcome.  This walk through the plains, is just another walk.' Kolya's feet had been calloused over decades ago.  This walk was no different than any of the others. His mind wanders as it so often does.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"What's yer name, boy?" The strange accent, foreign to the young man's years was forceful and insistent.  The old warrior responsible for training the new recruits had absolutely no empathy in his steel gray eyes.  He cared very little for the boys he was about to change.<br/><br/>"Nikolai Stepanovitch Vedeneyev!" The boy exclaimed to the head man. <br/><br/>The older man in charge who may have been 35 years of age allowed a slight smile to crease his lips, "Well, Nikolai step on a bitch.  Get in line." Serzhánt Orlov addressed the young recruit. He then paced the line looking at the boys he would need to turn into men. "You boys are the scum of the earth!  You are not even worthy to be called dogs.  A dog has a higher calling in this world than you do!  You will learn to do everything I tell you.  You will not question, you will not hesitate, you will simply do.  Any of you scum who questions me or any other officer of this command, will receive lashes.  You will learn respect.  For without it, you deserve no respect in return!  Any of you scum fails to do what you're told will be punished!  I will turn you filth into men.  You will learn how to fight and especially how to use the broadsword.  Your sword will be your best friend.  You will name your sword.  You will respect your sword and the swords of your brothers.  Look to the scum on your left," Serzhánt Orlov yelled at the assembled boys and they complied.  "Look to the scum on your right.  At least one of them will not be here when we're done.  And no, they are not going home to their mommy," the old warrior leaned in and allowed a few second pause. "at least not alive."<br/><br/>Serzhánt Orlov resumed his walk, pacing back and forth in front of the group of boys. "You'll refer to me as Serzhánt and nothing else.  Do you got me, scum?"<br/><br/>The boys all yelled, "Yes Serzhánt!"</span><br/><br/>Nikolai has always found it comforting to get lost in his head while on the march.  Even if the thought was a memory of a less than pleasant event. But even during those initial months with Serzhánt Orlov he managed to find some happy or pleasant experiences. At least his brother Griegor was by his side then. The thought of Griegor made him unhappy.<br/><br/>He viewed this current march across the plains no different than any other.  The biggest difference was he was less encumbered.  That was probably the only pleasing aspect of this march. As a soldier, he carried a pack, a sword, armor and occasionally a shield. The weight of that equipment was at least a third of his own weight. This walk was easy.<br/><br/>Once, three weeks ago he considered trying to escape.  He assessed his captors and the small pug of a creature who led them.  They were weak.  He knew, if the situation was different; he and ten of his brothers armed with swords against them equally armed; there was no doubt in his mind he and his Khoszul brethren would survive.  They were weak, but very well adept at using those damn crossbows.  Any slave who attempted to escape across the plains during this march learned how to catch one of those crossbow bolts in the spine.  He and his comrades may have been able to overwhelm their captors twenty-five days ago, but not today. Today, they lost their strength and apparently their will to resist.<br/><br/>He did not know any of his comrades, save one.  He had the luxury of being the last man in the file.  He could watch all of them.  More than likely they came from some respectable venue in life.  But whatever they had done, they were here now, sharing in the same misery.  The man immediately in front of him, he recognized as a Khoszul man.  They fought together in the last battle.  He is the only other survivor from that encounter between General Zolnerowicz and the Grand Duchy's Count Sachkov.  He didn't really know Pietr, who staggered in front of him, never having conversed, but considered him reliable simply because he was a Khoszul man like him.<br/><br/>The walk suddenly came to a halt.  The escort brought drink and a small scrap of food.  Kolya did not question the meal or the break.  He appreciated it, nonetheless.  He and his comrades were permitted to sit in the dirt.  A luxury also appreciated.  Kolya did not care why they stopped.  He scanned the horizon more out of curiosity than anything else.  He decided that he hates this land.  There are no trees, no mountains and very little water.  The boreal forest of the Khoszul lands are the most beautiful locations on the planet.  'It seems the dark cloud hovers quietly overhead,' Kolya thinks to himself. "This place sucks, " He quietly mutters to himself." Pietr hears him and allows a grin.