You struggle to your knees, ignoring the searing pain in your leg where the blade struck you. Arrows whistle overhead, some peppering the ground around you. Your shield is ridden with arrows; it is useless now. You look out onto the desolate wasteland around you, and the wall of soldiers that are advancing ever closer. Looking up into the sky, you wonder if there is a heaven, and, when the enemy inevitably destroys you, whether you might go there.
Your comrades are dying around you, dying for a king they have most likely never seen or known. You wonder why you have to go on. Your life will not be valued, nor will you be missed; you will be but another name on a memorial plaque.
Defeat seems immanent. Your morale is fading like the sun on the horizon. Darkness envelops you. Tears of anguish begin to flow down your bruised face. Now is the time to decide: fight or flight?