The bird was late that day.
The slave wearily stretched his long frame and turned his head toward the light. Manacled hands rubbed slitted eyes, and Kanu yawned, watching the early dawn seep through the bars of his cell. Taking in the city with his jaded eyes, as his understimulated brain struggled to wake up. Body soon to regain the stillness of sleep, only now with open eyes. The slave settled into a cross-legged postion, faced the small barred window, exhaled and slumped his shoulders, his aquiline features completely impassive. To all appearances, Kanu - the Bearded Warrior, the youngest ever Head of the King’s Guards – was a broken man. [NYB]
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