His body was eating itself, his heart was pounding harder than ever and he faced a desperate struggle with each and every breath. His shield lay broken at the battlefield, his sword stuck in one of the few unlucky attackers but he still had his armour, weighing him down more than anything.
His legion had walked straight into an ambush, they were attacked from all sides and never stood a chance. Barely minutes had passed before he and his fellow soldiers broke and ran. Now only he survived, the others having been cut down or captured.
The warrior did not know where he was, his surroundings were simply trees -- thick, ancient trees. The leaves and branches were so thick that the sunlight itself was broken up into little spots, spots that danced on the ground as the trees moved with the wind. At any other time, a man could have admired the beauty of nature that seemed to pulse through these forests. Although the warrior dare not stop. He did not know if he was being chased. He did not know if the attackers were still looking for survivors. But he dare not stop.
WHACK!
Carelessness that can only come with blind fear or raw hatred, struck the warrior. A loose branch on the floor had caught his foot and he fell to the ground with a bone-crunching thud. The pain washed over him, his body ceased up from exhaustion. He looked up to the sky, saw the dancing spots of sunlight, and then faded into darkness.
****
Her hands caressed his body, feeling him and searching him. It was as if she were blind and her only means of identifying the warrior was through her hands. But they were glorious hands. Smooth, warm and gentle, as close to perfection as can be.