I looked around at all the sleeping men that surrounded me. The ground was uncomfortable and the fire was the only comfort to me at the moment. The freezing night had frozen my face on our ride. It seems sometimes that we never stop. And when we do, it turns into a blur and we are right back riding again in those brittle old saddles. Though it was cold, my heart was ablaze. An arrow had pierced my soul even though it had not gotten past my armor.

Was I fighting for God, or for that of men? Every time I close my eyes I see the lifeless bodies of men that have fallen by my hand. Every time I breath I smell the faint coppery smell of blood. Now and again I wake up in the middle of the night and look at my hands by the iridescent glow of the moon, just to see if they are covered in thick crimson. The way to heaven…A way to atone for sins. That's what they say.

A passing wind blows through, sending my dirty hair all about my face and blowing sparks from the fire into the dark night. A horse stomps the ground from not too far off, awake just like me. I have sealed my fate, but in the right way? Where am I headed? Into a mass of Muslim sinners, doomed for death? I am but a lowly follower, with a wandering mind.

If I do escape the clutches of death, what will I become when this is all over? I shook my head for clarity, this will never be over. It will never end for me until death. And when I die, will I be saved from Hell? I try not to think, they have officers to think for you. I lay on the ground and close my eyes, trying to barricade out the thoughts. I will fight for my God. So why do I fight with myself? Like my mind is on opposing sides?

My eyes are closed, the visions come. Me, slaying someone who has children waiting at home. Me, slicing off the head of a young teenage boy, whose mother is crying at home.

Can death be the path to salvation?