Wounded unto death. His blood mingled in the dust with that of his foes and his allies and the horses. He hated the sounds the horses made when they had to be put down after such a calamitous battle. He mourned the loss of his loyal troops, of course, but it was the maimed and ruined horses that he really regretted. Such a waste. Like his own life. He tasted ashes in the wind. How fitting. His legacy would be those ashes now. If only... The hunchbacked monk cradled the fallen Lord's head. Whispered to him. Dark secrets. Bitter truths. A way to start over. To begin again. Dying and desperate he seized upon the damned monk's twisted words. They had never liked one another. They were not friends. Barely even allies. Even so. He muttered the vile words. Let his cooling blood purchase his passage. The monk laughed. Then it was over.
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