This wind is mystical yet tame, and it sings to me.

Blood trickles from my throat, on to Kate's white nightgown. She screams at the sight. 'Jarrod, you're bleeding!' 'I'm all right, don't struggle I won't let it get to you.

Not to know what happened before you were born is always to remain a child. For what is a man’s life if it is not linked with the life of future generations by memories of the past?

I did a research assignment on life in the Middle Ages only last year. I found the era fascinating, all that chivalry and court romance. But I never pictured anything as poor as this village. This is the pits. There's no romance here, definitely no chivary. And it stinks--of sweat and smoke and sewage.

The cottages are full of life. It's incredible to think they are filled with people who know nothing of computerised technology, nor even running water, sewage systems or electricity. And yet here they live. Surviving.

Nothing will be resolved here. Nothing is ever resolved without war. It is the way of the universe.