Pasha shivered in the twilight as he sat next to a small fire.  The voyage East had taken its toll on him physically and mentally, and he now had little resemblance to the boy that had stolen away from the Sultan’s court.  He had become so lean that the outline of his ribs were visible, and he was covered in dirt.

A small squirrel was cooking over the fire on a spit made from branches.  The rough terrain and scrub brush provided few food sources, and this small piece of meat would seem like an elaborate feast after going hungry for so long.

He was travelling through borderlands between East and West, lands not strongly contested nor desired by either Turk or European.  Supplies arrived infrequently and in small amounts, and the landscape was devoid of the thick woodlands so p...

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