He didn’t know what was going to happen to him, nor did he really want to think about it. All he’d wanted was a loaf of bread! Jin huffed, and twisted his wrists in the confining ropes that tied and hobbled him. The hemp burned. The beggar boy ceased his wriggling.

Jin was only nine years old. His parents had abandoned him at a temple not long before his eight nameday, and he could barely remember his mother’s face or his father’s voice. They, like so many others, had disappeared from his life, like mist on a bright summer morning. He didn’t even remember his full name. It was yet another sweltering day in the city of Farul, with the sun beating down like a curse from the gods. However, Jin, like so many others, had adapted to the insane heat of his home. The one problem with it all, thought, was lack of hydration. Water was a scare thing in Farul, leaving people to drink badly brewed beer or ale. The guard driving the hard wooden cart yanked back on the reins, shouting to stop.