Dying life
Borne knelt by a small stream, lowering himself slowly to cup the water with his hands, bending his head down carefully.
His movements were slow and deliberate, yet he still couldn't bear the throbbing pain from his left shoulder.
Cold sweat dotted his forehead as he repeated the action of lifting the water to his lips.
Nearby, his warhorse stood vigilantly, its ears twitching, catching every sound around them.
Suddenly, a 'splash' broke the stillness, and the horse immediately turned its head toward Borne.
Borne's body, weakened beyond measure, slipped, and he fell completely into the water.
Instantly, he felt the world spinning, his nose blocked, making it impossible to breathe.
The horse swiftly moved to Borne's side, positioning itself sideways to make it easier for him to mount.
Borne tried to stand, but it felt like he was in a deep abyss, his body refusing to muster any strength.
Still, with what little strength remained, he slowly crawled toward the horse.
Sensing his movement, the horse adjusted its stance, bringing the saddle closer to Borne.
Borne stretched out his hand with all his might, gripping the horse's mane.
Sensing his grip, the horse stood up, aligning perfectly to help Borne sit on its back.
He attempted to grasp the reins, but his hands were too weak, and with his vision blurred, he could only fumble aimlessly in front of him.
But he failed to catch hold of them.
At that moment, he suddenly felt like he was hearing a storm, a deafening roar that made him involuntarily lower his head.
His brain swirled with dizziness; everything around him seemed to twist and sway as if the whole world was shaking unstably.
His eyelids grew heavier.
Borne, swaying on the horse's back, finally lost consciousness and slumped over.
The warhorse beneath Borne became momentarily panicked, but it quickly calmed down and carefully began to search for a path.
To prevent Borne from falling off, the horse moved with extreme caution, taking slow, deliberate steps through the dim forest.
Relying on its memory, it soon arrived in front of a low thicket.
But just then—
A few strange noises came from up ahead.
The horse immediately halted, listening intently.
Ahead were two magical beasts devouring their prey.
Their sharp fangs gleamed coldly, tearing into the flesh and crushing bones with a chilling sound.
The air reeked of blood, with their muzzles stained red.
Sensing the noise behind them, the beasts slowly lifted their heads, their eerie green eyes locking onto Borne and his horse.
A series of low growls rumbled from their throats.
The horse carefully began to back away, realizing this path was no longer an option.
Soon, it found itself at a fork in the road.
The path to the left was pitch dark, with no visible end in sight.
The road to the right, though illuminated by a distant light, was fraught with danger.
Countless thorns and vines stretched across the already narrow path, forming a nearly impassable barrier.
After a moment of contemplation, the horse chose to take the path on the left.
It was determined not to let its rider suffer any further injury; as long as it could run and seek a way out, it would ensure its comrade's safety.
After moving through the darkness for some time, the horse spotted a faint glimmer of light in the distance.
That light became a beacon, guiding it forward.
It quickened its pace, hurrying toward the source of the light.
The light grew brighter and brighter, revealing an open area just ahead.
The warhorse slowly made its way through the forest, returning to the familiar entrance of Falcon Mountain.
Suddenly, Borne, who was slumped over on its back, began to cough violently.
The horse immediately sensed that Borne's condition was worsening.
Relying on instinct, it headed towards the main road.
Its pace gradually quickened; it knew it needed to get its comrade back to the camp as soon as possible.
Soon, the horse reached a roadside, where it saw numerous tracks left by wagon wheels and hoofprints.
These were left by the main force during their march.
The horse immediately began to gallop along the road.
Borne, feeling the familiar jostling of the ride, slowly drifted back into unconsciousness.
They continued to follow the tracks for several hours.
During this time, Borne slowly regained some strength and reached out to grab the reins.
His fingers were weak and numb, with barely any strength left.
Though he managed to get hold of the reins, he couldn't control them.
After a few hours of rest, Borne felt a slight surge of energy.
He weakly spoke to the horse, "Water."
Borne's lips were cracked and nearly bleeding due to his fever.
It felt as if a fire was burning inside him, continuously dehydrating his body.
The horse quickly veered slightly off the main road, guiding Borne to a small stream.
The horse crouched down, allowing Borne to dismount slowly.
He made his way to the water and began sipping it, bit by bit.
After laying Borne down, the horse immediately dashed into a nearby grove.
When it returned, it had a bunch of fresh green herbs in its mouth.
It placed the herbs in front of Borne, then raised its head again, remaining alert to its surroundings.
Borne picked up the grass, still dotted with a few droplets of water clinging to the fresh green blades.
He lifted the grass to his mouth and began to chew, but before he could swallow, a wave of nausea surged from his stomach.
The contents of his empty stomach, along with the unchewed grass, were expelled from his mouth in a sudden retch.
Having not eaten anything before, his stomach was empty, and the effort of vomiting drained what little strength he had left.
Once again, he dragged himself slowly toward the water source, cupping his hands to bring water to his mouth.
He drank until he could take no more, then finally stopped.
With great effort, he managed to stand, swaying unsteadily as he moved toward the horse.
The warhorse reacted quickly, coming forward and lowering itself to the ground.
Borne gripped its mane, and as the horse stood, he was gradually lifted and settled back onto the saddle.
This time, Borne held the reins tightly.
Though he lacked the strength to control the horse, he clung to them firmly.
A profound sense of exhaustion weighed on his eyelids; he desperately wanted to close his eyes but forced them open.
His breathing was labored, yet he tried to sit up straight.
"I have to go faster," he thought.
Borne swayed uncontrollably in the saddle, his ears ringing louder and louder.
In his disoriented state, he thought he heard someone calling his name.
His vision blurred, and strange colors danced before his eyes, like flames flickering in his throat.
He could feel his heart racing, pounding loudly in his ears.
His thoughts were jumbled, filled with strange ideas and confusion.
"Am I dying?" he wondered.