He started writing his first few words finally, grappling his pen to form words into a sentence. The courage it took him after years lost, and it frightens him. The emptiness. His grandfather told him and his brother one day to treasure time, you'll never get it back. He wrote firstly, of thoughts that were once so far-fetched in his days back where he spent afternoon’s sun dipping in the grassy fields and running barefoot, where the only danger was a splinter or a stubbed toe. That was where it all began, that was where it all ended.

He decided that ignorance was the best way to begin; foolishness was something that captures the frustration of those who want to see it to the end. So it shall begin, on a day he stepped foot on the margins of an overgrown cottage in a field that was not his...