The warrior is covered in drying blood when he breaks down the rotten door to the abandoned house. His breastplate hangs from one tattered strap and jangles with each movement, and his weapons are long gone, buried in mud and corpses in a field three hours hobble from here.
Damp, dark, and empty, the house is nonetheless a reprieve from the relentless rain and at least conceals him from whoever won the battle, his side or theirs, doesn't matter. He'll either be seen as a deserter or an enemy.
After he gets a fire going in the old stone hearth he hears a whining from the back room of the small home. An old dog, abandoned with the furniture and anything too heavy to cart onto a donkey.
With some coaxing he gets the old dog into the front room with him. The creature can barely stand on his back legs, and he whines with each unbalanced movement. He gets the dog to lie down and covers him with what remains of his tattered blanket. He feeds the dogs the scraps of hardtack from his rations.
In the morning the dog is barking and the warrior thinks someone has found him in the house. But the dog is just struggling to stand by himself. The warrior helps him to his legs and watches as the dog potters about, unsure of what to do, before lying down again.
The warrior knows he must go on. There's nothing here in this land for him but death, and the dog won't be able to keep up. But the poor beast will starve to death here, alone and cold. He could finish it with his knife but even the thought of that makes him sick with sadness.
So he sits back down and pets the old dog, who falls asleep, and he thinks about life.
Paddy Dobson
4th May 2023