Every revolution starts with words, an utterance or a whisper, never underestimate the power of words. It can be a classic vignette of a roadside quarrel, someone being pedantic about a rumour; words formulate the foundations of change. The time had come for the leaves to turn crimson with the impending arrival of fall, the air had a tinge of irritation and the mood was calling for the page to turn, a page of history and the destiny of the characters.
Zobel woke up to the sound of chirping crickets, he had slept like a log not realizing the time that had lapsed. There was a tray of food placed next to his cot with cold bread and stew, guess Dorian had placed it quietly and didn’t want to disturb him. He had the urge to relieve himself but decided against it realizing that the dog was still there at the entrance. A big black dog with piercing bloodshot eyes stared at him, not moving, not growling, simply gazing at him with a menacing look. It was better for him to hold his urge than to take a chance by challenging the canine. But this was Zobel, someone called him from within, are you afraid of a dog? Are you scared of this petty animal? You the mighty general of your times, what is stopping you? The hoofs of whose horse would send shock waves down his enemy’s regiments, this Zobel is now hesitant to go past a measly black puppy. Zobel got…
