I stand alone,
forsaken,
forlorn among mankind.
The mockery of princes is upon me—
yea, even paupers shun my touch;
a wanderer am I,
stripped of home and
belonging.
Morning brings no respite,
relief refuses to aid me—
sunlight only bends her scornful gaze
upon my face
‘til I am exposed,
and night offers no rest from my
oppression.

Frail beats my heart.

REDSHAFT

CHAPTER I

I wasn't sure how long I was in the prison cell, but one thing was certain:

I was going to free myself this time.

Standing up, I walked in circles in the cell, the smell of dungeon weed growing on the castle stones around me clogging my thoughts.
Perhaps that's why they let this weed grow; to stop one from thinking straight.
The circles in which I walked to free up my mind weren't too large, for my leg was chained to a large three hundred pound ball of iron.