He had been left back in his cold cell again, trying to catch his breath after being almost drowned, when he could have swore he heard footsteps. He sighed, knowing he was probably wrong. The last thing he had ate was just a few little pieces of a soldier who died of sickness, and that was four days ago. He was probably just hungry and imagining it. He leaned against the wall, and turned his head. No. That was definitely footsteps.
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