On the verge of death, the nag stumbles, almost throwing the rider from it's back. The man is not far behind the poor creature, with hands tucked beneath his arm pits and a shiver that lingers. Can't be long now and there's nothing but cold stone hills around him. No forts. No mess halls or warm cots. Just the land, killing him with indifference. He wonders again why he came here.
Paddy Dobson
19th September 2023