The Crippled Wanderer

Blood seeped through what remained of Melothil's robes. He stripped off, until he was left wearing nothing more than a plain white shirt and underwear - both wih blotchy blood stains soaking through them.

Using what remained of his robes, Melothil tied a tourniquette around the wound, in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. If he could last long enough to get to Haven, he could be helped there.

Getting to his feet was a difficulty as pain surged through his body like an electric current.

With his legs shaking beneath him, he managed to get up, and with energy that had no known source, he found the strength to go on to his destination.

The sun rose high above him, beating down relentlessly, so that not even the shade of the trees could protect him. He felt faint once more, but this was no deterent to continue.

Melothil was aware of a shortcut to the village. One that few knew about, but one that he would utilize his knowledge of now.

Avoiding the towering mountain range that most would travel across, Melothil stuck to the route that lay below. Although through a swamp, he had found the perfect route, as had his Guild brothers and sisters.

Melothil was finding it hard to let go of his involvement in the Guild. Although he had lost Freth's companionship, Melothil wanted to prove that he was a member worthy of their trust, and he was willing to prove it in any way he could.

With the swamp behind him and the sun still high in the sky, Melothil was making good time. Ignoring the pain in his arm weas not easy, and it was hard to travel across the swamp with only one arm to grapple with, but he had made it, and would not stop now.

The forest lay ahead once more, but on this side of the swamp, it was more dense.

The idea of being lost in this forest did not appeal to him, and he began to feel faint once more.

Falling to his knees, a sound echoed through his mind. He thought that he could hear the neighing of a horse. His mind was really playing tricks on him now, as he saw the mighty stallion approach him.

He held out a hand to the mirage and felt its soft mane.

He snapped out of his light-headed daze and realised that this horse was real. It was here to assist him.

Climbing on, he set off in the direction of Haven - the horse seemed to know where it was going, and so Melothil had little steering to do with his one arm.

He would surely make it by sunset now, with his new companion.

The Gods' merciless rage had subsided.

The End

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