coming back home (part two)

We walked for about 10 hours at a stretch with a short break for a rest halfway through. I cannot remember how many hills we climbed up and down and how many streams we crossed before we reached a small house on the top of a stiff hill. It was in the fag end of the winter, and at nine the sun was shining brightly. All of us were beginning to sweat profusely. The guerrillas were used to such kind of hard work, and they did not show any fatigue or tiredness. On the other hand, I was tired to the death and feeling extremely hungry. When we reached the house, it was already 2 pm. The family of the house was supposed to keep our meals ready. But as bad luck would have it, the messenger whom the guerrillas had sent in advance did not reach there at all. However, the householder was kind-hearted, and immediately set in work to prepare food for us. I will never forget the hospitality the family provided to us. This was the first time I knew what hunger is. Now I fully understand why "hunger" is called the greatest illness, and why the Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish (died a few days ago) wrote: "Beware of my hunger!"

Are there any mistakes? Thanks.