Aiden clutched his side, the warm, sticky flow of blood a grim testament to the battle.
"Is this how I die?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper against the wind.
But even as the thought formed, a stubborn refusal ignited within him. "Nah, I'll live."
With newfound resolve, he scanned the fallen knights, their lifeless forms scattered across the dusty ground.
His fingers, trembling but determined, fumbled through their gambesons and pouches.
A small waterskin and a roll of bandages—a meager treasure, but enough.
He uncorked the skin and drained it in one long, desperate gulp, the cool liquid a balm to his parched throat.
Then, with practiced movements, he tore open his tunic and pressed the bandages against the deep wound in his chest and sides, gritting his teeth against the fresh surge of pain.
Just as he finished, a distant rumble caught his attention.
He looked up to see a caravan, a lumbering beast of wood and canvas, approaching on the horizon.
Panic flared, swift and cold.
He needed to disappear. Scrambling, he found a precarious hiding spot behind a cluster of thorny bushes, pressing himself flat against the earth as the caravan drew nearer.
The caravan creaked to a halt, and a portly man with a neatly trimmed beard emerged from the driver's seat.
His eyes widened, fixing on the carnage before him. "Oh god, what's happened here?" he stammered, his voice laced with horror.
Before the man could even fully process the scene.
Aiden burst from his hiding spot. He lunged, his good arm wrapping around the caravan owner's throat, pressing hard. "Comply with my orders and i'll let you live,".
Aiden growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "Hide me in your caravan, or I'll eliminate you right here."
The man's eyes bulged, his face turning a mottled red. "Okay, okay! I'll do it! You're choking me!" he gasped, clawing at Aiden's arm.