From: <CyraLin@aol.com>
  Date: Fri, 10 Jul 1998 06:07:54 EDT
  Subject: Paul's Pause.

   Paul stopped, stunned. His bag thudded to the dusty road by his feet.
  He
  could
  > have SWORN there had been bandits there a moment ago-- bandits chasing
  a
  young
  > clumsy boy across the brush. He had been about to step in, weilding
  his
  swiss
  > army knife and newly acquired Rapier, Very similar in style to the
  stage one he had back home, only this one would be a bit more lethal, to
  play Hero--- when, in the span of a heartbeat, the bandits had
  > caught the boy, had a brief verbal exchange, and carted the boy off
  somewhere
  > out of sight.  Maybe Paul had blinked or something, and had missed it.
  >
  > He was now utterly alone. Alone, covered in dust.  *Alone, eating
  dust* he
  > corrected, closing his gaping mouth and spitting the wind-born sand
  out.
  >
  > He sat down, heavily, on his backpack in the middle of the red road
  and
  > sighed. He didn't want to admit it-- but he was lonely.  Telling a
  recycled
  > version of the Princess Bride had done little to alleviate his sudden
  feeling
  > that he was very much alone in this world, and very much far from
  home, much
  > less anyone he knew let alone trusted.

  *If only I could find Teri, Then this would be a bit more bearable.  I
  hope beyond everything she is alright...*

  A moment passed, *I might even be so inclined as to be....happy...to see
  Stana...* There was not much love loss between the two, *Of course
  inside
  of 3 hours we'd be trying to kill eachother.*

  Another moment passed.

  > There was a dust cloud billowing towards him. Paul grumbled to himself
  and
  > gathered up his belongings-- and was about to step to the side when
  suddenly
  a
  > row of calvary had skidded to a halt and was looming above him. One
  horse
  > danced a few steps infront of the row-- by the gleam of the rider's
  armor,
  > Paul surmised that this man would be in charge of the other men.
  >
  > "Sir," Paul said, nodding, and continued stepping to the side.
  >
  > "Stop there, sirrah," The man said loudly, his voice taut with
  officiousness.
  >
  > Paul paused, and turned to look back over his shoulder at the officer.
  "Yes?"
  >
  > The calvary didn't move, but Paul got the feeling that they would move
  in
  any
  > way the officer commanded, at no more than a wrong word--
  >
  > "Sirrah, if it pleases you to come with us-- there's someone who would
  like
  to
  > speak with you."

  "Who, mayhaps?" Paul quirried.

  "Sir-- the Lieutenant would like to speak with you personally."
  >
  > Paul blinked. He ran a hand through his hair-- which was standing
  almost
  > straight up due to the humid air--
  >
  > "Do I get a bath first?" he asked dryly.
  >
  > "Certainly," the officer replied, and held up a hand. The calvary
  parted to
  > let through-- no, not a tub filled with hot water, but a soldier
  leading a
  > glossy black stallion with dark leather tack.
  >
  > Paul broke into a grin, and shouldered his bag. "Which way?" he said.