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  After what felt like hours, Jaret was covetously enjoying the fruit of his labors. He forced himself to sip the water so that it would last, then when his mouth was wetted, he tore off a chunk of the bread, dipped it in the water, and slowly chewed the moisture from it. He finished the water and bread that way but took his time and relished each bite, knowing that they may be his last for some time.

  When the food was finished, he stared at the bleak walls around him and the flickering blur of light that made it through the tiny slit of a window in the door, wondering what to do next. Over the course of his trip to the water, he had worked some life back into his arms and legs, but they were still weak and tingling as if half-asleep. His ribs erupted with each ragged breath, and his head was pounding. He braced his arms against his sides and took a deep breath. Squinting against the pain, he ran his fingers along his ribs and found that five were cracked. It was bad, but he’d had worse.

  He had been stripped of his jacket, shirt, and vest, had been left with only his undershirt. He unlaced it and pulled it over his head. The thick black and gray hair that covered his chest stood out over the well-defined form – it was cool in the cell, he realized and suppressed a shiver. He pulled the lace out of his shirt and set it aside. With much effort, he reached his feet and pulled off his long hard-leather boots. The act left him panting, and it was several minute before he could again rise to sitting.

  He marveled that he still had his boots, that such luxuries had not been taken. Then he reached into the right boot and was astonished to find the small knife still tucked into the sheath deep inside. Holding the short, stout blade to the sparse light, watching it dance off its point, sent him into deliriums of joy. So, he thought, the Order still has a part left for me to play. There is a reason that I am not dead.

  Thanking that divine power, he propped himself against the near wall, pulled the boots to him, and went to work.

 
H. Nathan Wilcox's Novels