Translate this to Russian:  NAME_1 struggled to keep up with his comrades as they walked down the forest trail. His breath came in short gasps as he quickened his pace, determined to keep up with his more experienced buddies, feeling the weight of his pack. The sword at his belt kept hitting him, and he was unable to figure out how the other warriors kept it from whacking their knees, even when he matched their pace exactly. For that matter, he couldn't figure out how they could go so fast and barely break a sweat.

Behind him the wagons rumbled up the trail, horses nervously keeping away from the sharp dropoff to the side of the trail. The clip clop of the horses was a sharp contrast to the nearly inaudible sounds of the footfalls of the men in front of him. Even worse, the horses seemed to be pulling closer even as the men seemed to be pulling away.

"Rock and a hard place," thought NAME_1, "Either get trampled or suffer a heart attack." NAME_1 stifled a groan and kept moving.

His eyes were so fixed on the trail, he barely stopped before he hit the brightly grinning warrior who had stopped. NAME_1 looked up, and up, at the 7 foot tall blue eyed warrior. His name, NAME_1 recalled, was NAME_2. NAME_2 started walking again, more slowly, and motioned for NAME_1 to join him. NAME_1 still had to hustle to keep up. It seemed that for every one stride NAME_2 made he had to make two.

"Your first trip?" NAME_2 said.

"Aye," NAME_1 would have liked to say more, but he had no breath for it.

"Having a little trouble keeping up with the rest of us?"

"Aye,"

"Would you like a tip?"

"Aye," NAME_1 thought. "Help me please," would be more appropriate, but he could hardly breathe, much less speak.

"Do this then," NAME_2 said. "Don't think about the trail at all. Daydream about something pleasant."

"Aye?"

"Right. I may be on this trail, but my mind is still in the brothel." NAME_2 chuckled and moved ahead again.

"Daydream," NAME_1 thought. "Certainly can't do that brothel idea." The only experiences he had were his past in the village he grew up in.

NAME_1 was born in a small village inside of Bernicia. He had been one of three children, the youngest. They lived far off on a farm, so visitors other than the tax collector were few. He had few memories of his father, who had been drafted and never came back. His mother, an extremely strong woman, had taken over from him. She ruled over the land and her children with an iron hand, and she was disobeyed only at great personal peril.

For years and years NAME_1 had toiled