It was the short, old man. He had a wooden cartridge with him. It was full of blocks made of a material that I know not of. The blocks were white and brown, and I can see that it is fragile.
He spoke again and he leaned with his ear towards my cell with a tilted head “I asked: do you want a book?”
I answered this time “Sorry, what is this `bouk`? Sorry, I am not from here.”
He raised his head with a confused expression on his face “I have heard of those who do not read nor write but I have not met yet who does not know what a book is.”
I did not know what to say. “What land have you come from...boy,” he asked
“I came from a land full of trees. I and my people have been forced to leave by an army of a man called Caelum, and he put me here. I am forced to fight in this tournament” I do
