His face was covered with purple blotches and his eyelids were swelling at a terrible rate.
Out of breath and utterly worn out he stood still and steadied himself against a crooked olive-tree.

He could no longer hear even the footsteps of the lads before him.
They were beyond his reach now.

The last of the Children of the King had left Verbicaro, where their fathers had lived and died since darker ages than Calabrian history has accurately recorded..