We have ways of making you talk presents The Cauldron by Xeno, read by Almari.

Chapter 20 As Blake moved in a stumbling run across the

open gardens towards the houses held by Gorman, facing west to Arnhem, he was conscious

that his thoughts were as uncordenated as his limbs, and he wondered vaguely whether

it was the bend's dream or simply tarnished which made his mind dart from matters of importance

to trivialities.

The back of his neck felt cold and damp, devoid of feeling, and necessitated.

He felt it must stand out like a bull's-eye on his body, a target for the Germans, he

was convinced and infiltrated into one of the houses between his own, and those held by

the remnants of three platoon, who had fallen back into them after being burned out of their

new position soon after dawn.

He closed his eyes for a second as he lumbered forward.

Tripping on a briar, he opened them again and forced himself to run faster.

Sluggish ripples of panic rolled out from the area of his stomach, so tangible that he

felt them ease between his clothing and his skin like paper knives opening envelopes.

He mumble to Ziran.

If they were going to shoot for Christ's sake let them shoot quickly.

He almost wanted them to, to get the whole bloody useless mess over and done with.

He didn't even know what it was about anymore, and he was beginning not to care.

He blundered awkwardly through a rickety gate, bruising himself on a post.

He was cursed as he went through the back door of a house and the curses were interspersed

with low sobs of exhaustion.

...