I leaned heavily into the mane of the horse that I rode. The mane was thick with lather, and through the fog in my brain I registered that neither I nor the horse were going to be able to go on much farther.
The horse stumbled into a depression and caused the broken off arrow shaft lodged in my side to move painfully. The moment of clarity, brought about by the sharp pain, awoke me to the realization that the horse was starting to fall forward. I kicked my legs out of the stirrups moments before the horse’s chest made contact with the ground.
The impact threw me from the saddle into a cluster of boulders to the side of the trail we had been traveling. I screamed as the arrow worked deeper into my side. I managed to briefly sit up and take in my surroundings before the darkness overwhelmed me. I was at the beginning of the Ernor Hills, not far from my home. How ironic I thought, before I passed out.