Threz woke, if you could call the way he’d spent the night ‘sleeping’.  He woke full of pain and weariness.  His wounds ached, his muscles ached, his head ached, and his throat was soar.  He shifted slightly and grass wet with morning dew brushed his face.  He shook as a round of throat stripping coughs rolled out, then opened his eyes and sat up.

The morning was gray and dismal.  The refugees lay scattered about the small park.  Not randomly, but concentrated near the latticed entrance across from the jail and spreading outwards, as if everyone had simply lain down the moment there was a free spot of grass for them.  Which likely was exactly what had happened.  Not that he could really remember much.  The last moments before he lay down were dark and blurry.

Pain rippled across his back as he rolled over and struggled to rise.  Most…

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