Recovering from injuries with a pretty woman as a nurse seemed rather attractive. It would have been, too, if she didn't hate me to the bone. If Silvana's attitude towards me was cold and indifferent before it was burning with a passionate hatred now. Her touch was soft and gentle, but her face was anger's own visage.

I suspected that she longed to strangle me as she checked me for wounds. I made some attempts to speak to her, but she ignored me. I asked about her father, her life, her magic, all to no avail. It eventually dawned on me that I was only angering her further, and I stopped.

It occured me to leave their home when I ate at Godfather's table that day. That dagger hiding smile of the girl's father and the veiled hate of Silvana was too much to bear. Given the choice, I would have chosen to dine with hungry wolves instead. It felt like snakes were crawling over the table and my body every bite I took, and venom was seeping through my veins. With as much grace as I could muster I dismissed myself.

I had expected some haggling and reluctant agreement when I asked for a place to stay. There were no inns at the small village, everyone had a home. Imagine how surprised I was when everyone in the village square offered me a place at their home.

Stories and news, it seemed, were far more valuable to them than food and a bed. There was just something so charming about such simple folk. No horrors to hide, no stories to tell. Just people, more than willing to offer their hospitality without a thousand strings attached.

I chose the abode of a girl that appeared around fifteen. Her parents were the least enthusiastic to give extravagant gifts of eggs and meat that were so prized in the village, and the guilt of living off of a starving man's generosity would be worse than hunger ever could be. I was a fool for believing that they were less generous rather than more poor. Unbeknownst to me, it didn't matter which family I chose to leech off of. Their generosity knew no bounds.

"Oh, we're simple folk, milord. Nothing special bout us workmen and women. Here's mama's bed, dada's bed, mine, and dat it!" She called herself Alice, and her voice was breathless as she led me through the house. The home was a hovel, with thatch roofs and simple beds lining the outer circle of the hut. No animals were inside, neither was a kitchen. Instead, what appeared like a pantry held a few loaves of bread.

The dirt floor was so easy to travel it was surprising. But then, maybe that had something to do with the thousands of feet that had probably trodden over it. "Nice place." I commented. It was genuine, too. A simple place, much more like home than the massive mansion Silvana lived in.

Alice beamed as if I had called her an angel. "Glad to pleaze, milord." She rushed over to the pantry and grabbed a few loaves of bread. It had an aroma to it. Nothing close in quality to even military meals. But it gave me a feeling of hunger that only came from eating food from home. "Here, milord must be hungry. Me heard noble lords ate three times a day, dat true?"

"I do, no need to call me lord though. I'm just a normal person, no titles or such nonsense." I replied, taking a bite. There was something about fresh bread that tasted so good. Maybe it was because I was hungry, but the coarse shell around it wasn't unpleasant in the least. I finished faster than I thought possible. "Hey, why aren't you eating?" I asked, wiping the crumbs off my face.

"We only got five milord." She said. "We gotta save, or we gonna hungry."

I felt my sweet bread turn to bile in my throat. "Five, a day?"

Her eyes turned dreamy. "Ah, me wish dat were. No, five a wiek." She said, holding up five fingers.

I shot up to my feet. "Week? As in seven days?" She nodded.

"Yes, wiek, milord. Dat be seven days."

Something in me came to life, a burning fire that I had never before felt in my life. To die on the battlefield to an enemy soldier was one thing. But this, this was something else. "There's crops ready to be harvested, why are all of you eating so poorly?" I shouted.

Alice scratched her long black hair. "Poorly? Dis be good eating milord. Da Dragawn lowered war tax. More food for uz."

"It was worse?" I wasn't sure if I could be horrified more.

She nodded. "Ten yaers go. Bad crop, twenty dead. More sold." Her eyes dropped. "Three sisters."

I fought the urge to vomit. Just what kind of twisted place was this? Sold, into slavery, no doubt. "I'll help you harvest the crops. God knows how you poor folks haven't starved to death."

Her eyes widened. "You cannot milord. You be injured, and a lord. Dis be bad. Lords not workmen."

"Nonsense. I'm staying with you people, am I? My legs are fine, they look worse than they really are. Where are your parents? I'll learn and help out as best as I can." I promised. Her protests brushed past my ears like the wind.

Then I went out to learn how to harvest the crops. I grabbed the sickles the way Alice's parents showed me and cut the grain by the lowest stalk. I learned how to bundle wheat, barely, and rye. I moved stack after stack of food from day to night, and even as sweat dripped from my face in a river I never stopped.

If anyone had passed, they may have laughed. Leon Marshall, who would live to become emperor. Leon Marshall, who many named the scourge of the earth. Out in the mud harvesting crops like any other farmer working his fields.

Let them laugh. I regret none of the time I spent. There was something about life saving work that would make any man proud, much in the way a doctor feels after a long day. It was work like this that allowed me to call myself a good man.