Daniel woke up the next morning with a fire in his belly. The cut on his cheek from the night before caused him so much pain.
The suns were rising, bringing heat and dust. He stood up and brushed the red dirt off his torn pants.
He looked at Gideon. The old man sat by a small fire and was chewing on something again.
"I am not staying here for Six months," Daniel said. Gideon looked up immediately. He squinted with his one good eye.
"The sentence is fixed, boy. Unless you want to die trying to escape."
"There is another way," Daniel said. "I heard some people talking today. If a prisoner wins ten matches in a row in the Blood Arena, they earn a pardon. They get freedom."
Gideon stopped chewing. He shook his head slowly.
"That is a death sentence, boy. No one wins ten in a row. It's almost impossible. It has only happened twice in five years now. You know how many others that have tried and they failed?"
