Within three months he had become a fugitive, hunted for the murder of his own uncle.From being a source of pride, his name became a death sentence, and he had to become a wanderer, a person of no name. He had travelled in search of safety, and had found it, but never any peace. His fall weighed heavily on him. Bit by bit others, all outcasts, men and women with grievances, or those who could not settle, came to join him. All societies produce their injustices, and those who will not accept those injustices. So around Pamarchon there gathered the men forced into crime, the young and wild, the bold and adventurous, the women who yearned for something different, though they rarely knew what.They could not live among other men, so they travelled in bands, living out in the forests, occupying part of the vast emptiness which covered the landscape. Few ever noticed them and those who did could not find them. Many no longer wanted to hide and be fearful, or to have to move at regular intervals.
