Pasha carefully maneuvered his donkey along the edge of the column of soldiers to avoid suspicion.  Usually the men stared straight ahead or down at their feet, concerned only with their exhaustion and the weight on their backs.  He avoided mounted officers, and whenever a soldier stared with more than passing interest he fell back.  The column stretched into the distance, a wall of spears that Pasha imagined reached all the way back to his homeland.  The ground was becoming rocky and the wind more pronounced, and Pasha knew that they were approaching the occupied territories of Romania.  He wondered how long it would be before resistance was encountered.  What would he do then?  Surely his makeshift steed would not outpace any determined pursuit.  Even if he were not slain outright he would...

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