[Deorlin]

Deorlin eased himself to the ground, barely supressing a groan. He had waited to dismount until Izrenna had gone a few paces away, scouting around for more signs of their fellow pursuers, knowing that he would more probably fall off her horse than be able to manage to get his feet under him. As it was, he did manage, using every ounce of strength he had, to keep from pitching over its neck.

Now he lay flat, trying to control his breathing, which was heavy and labored. He didn't even have to look under the bandages on his thigh to know the wound there had reopened. He could feel the moisture against his skin, blood and serum seeping from the gash. Well, the cauterization was a hope, nothing more. And now hope was gone, at least the hope that this wound would heal up properly.

He had seen enough of wounds to know this one was going to be nothing but trouble. He wondered if Izrenna had ever seen, or smelt, rotting flesh, the wounds that went gangrenous? And how she would react if it came to cutting the leg off? Though it would not come to that, because there was no point - even under the best of circumstances an amputation was simply a last ditch effort to save a life, which usually failed. And here, in the middle of nowhere, with no-one to help her . . . No, he would not ask her to do that.

There was only one option - to keep travelling. Ultimately, he probably would pass out and fall off. Then she would stop and keep vigil while he bled to death. Then she would be free - to either try to find the others, or turn back to Edoras. Or they might just be able to catch up, but there were still many long weary hours of riding in order to do that.

Izrenna returned to his side, glancing anxiously at his pallid face and sweating brow.

"How goes it?" she asked quietly. "Here, let me check the wound."

"No, stay." He reached out and grabbed her hand as she bent forward. "I've already looked. It's well on the mend."

The frown on her face creased her forehead. "You don't look well. We should rest here a while. Perhaps we should go ahead and make camp for the night?" Deorlin heard the slight disappointment mingled with concern in her voice.

"No, no. There's still several hours of light left. We should make the best use we can of them." Deorlin forced a smile onto his lips. "I am a bit tired, I'll admit. You're hard to keep up with!" His smile became genuine as he considered with what disdain he had first thought of this tiny woman. But here she had proved herself to have a core as hard as steel.

"Let me lay here a few more minutes, and then we'll be off again." He lay back and closed his eyes, praying that she would make no protest. If she insisted that they stay, he was afraid he would not have the will to oppose her. If any chance still existed that he might yet find and rescue Frey, he preferred to die in that attempt than here in the middle of nowhere.