ive only jsut started this and i wanted some opinions on it The memories of my beloved childhood have all but slipped away from the grasp of my trouble mind. I sit here wonder whatÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s going on around me. The men around seem more worried than myself. We gather here in the French countryside, waiting. Our arms continue to build, almost as fast as our spirits disappear. Death does not bother us, fighting for a lost cause does. Yet while there is still strength running through the veins of our bodies we will continue to fight. Dawn comes all but to early to some, some cry themselves to sleep while others do nothing but ponder their futures. Not knowing what tomorrow brings could drive a man crazy. Some go a-wall grab the pistol and imbed a lead bullet into their skull. Some grab the night blades of our knights and crisply stab themselves in the heart. Others run off into the dark forests and are attacked by whatever they meet first. I myself accept the fate, which has been bestowed upon me. I will fight till my blood has been spilt and is dripping down the blade of a British soldier. The steaminess of the hot food before made a trail of drool trickle down my dry face. I ate the food faster than the rest; I was off to train for the inevitable war ahead of us. The morning dew soaked through my boots in a matter of minutes, this boots we wear while we rest. Comfort is found through the boat and keeps the men some how still on their feet. A spider web was caught up in the bush full of lush berries at my feet. Dew hung from the web, something beautiful yet soon to be destroyed. The weight of the dew broke several strands and soon enough the whole web was wrecked. I continued on with my usual pace, still pondering why we continue to fight. An eagle soared overhead searching for food, graceful something I wish I could be. For now I stumble across open fields dodging dead bodies and trying to kill the enemy. My arrows soar through the air and suck the life out of anyone in the way. ThereÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s no honor or grace in standing in a field shooting arrows off into the distance. Long do my fingers which to grab a sword and charge forth on the back of a horse yelling at the top of my lungs ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅFOR FRANCEÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ