[ WP ] A man is banished to the wilderness for 20 years . Write his diary entries for his first and last days of exile .

Day One. It seems that I have been forsaken and forgotten by my people. Well, not forgotten. If they had forgotten about me and my supposed “ crimes, ” perhaps I would not be in this particular situation. Regardless, here I am, at the edge of the known world. That is not true. I am beyond the edge of the known world, into the unknown. The hot, dry wind blows and howls against my clean-shaven face, and I look over the bare stones and stands of hardy, dwarfed pines clinging stubbornly to the steep cliffs. How long will it be until I am able to shave again, I wonder. I sit atop an old, clumsy mule, my faithful steed, with a small pack of supplies – a day ’ s rations, perhaps - of flatbread and salt pork, and a flagon of wine. As I ride, very slowly, down the embankment, gazing onto the bleak horizon, splashed gold and purple and red as the sun sinks in the distance, I begin to realize the enormity of my situation. My thoughts no longer dwell on how I will return and reclaim the throne that has been taken from me; instead, I begin to realize that I will be dead - food for vultures within two days - unless I find additional sustenance. Suddenly, I begin to laugh, bitterly, despite myself. I haven ’ t hunted since I was a boy. I take the short, curved knife from my scabbard – a fine, ornate blade, but meant for ceremony, and no more. Color drains from the world as twilight surrounds and consumes everything. I must find shelter soon, or I will not last the night. 
 
 Day Seven Thousand Three Hundred. It has been many days and more since I have seen my homeland, but it is high time for that to change. I sit atop a proud charger, clad in mail and cloth, watching the great army that snakes along the dusty highway below me, proudly flying my banners, marching in force towards my homeland. These men, who have fought and bled and died for me during my long exile, would do anything to see me take the crown that belongs to me, and now is our time. I love them, and know them, like my sons and brothers. When I see myself in the mirror, I am no longer the fresh, young face that ran from my kingdom like a dog with a tail between my legs. I have a thick, wiry beard, black but streaked with gray, the same as my hair. I have more scars that I can count, on my face, chest, and arms. Each one tells a story, reminds me what I have learned and that I can not be too careful or take anything for granted. My face is lined with care from the nights spent beneath the stars and sleeping in the saddle, in the service of kings and princes, fighting their little wars. It has been hard, and I have lost much. However, what pains me the most is the news from my homeland that reached me slowly, the corruption and wickedness and greed of the fat, old lecherous men who rule in my stead as “ steward. ” But I vowed that I would not return until my punishment was finished, until the ancient law had been satisfied. Now, it is time for blood, time for tears and wailing, and time for revenge. 

