Feeling something growing in his chest, some fragment of fire.
His eyes closed, he saw a boy stooping down to scoop up a crown that was not his.
He clenched his teeth. He wished he could have seen anything else. Yet the more he willed himself towards strength, the more it was that image that he drifted back to. It filled his mind with a vividness. Every detail of that moment, clawed into his brain for all eternity.
He remembered how his body had felt then. The way his arms had drooped, and his legs dangled uselessly, not even truly controlling the horse that he fought on. He remembered the hopelessness, the sense of pointlessness with each man that he killed. He remembered feeling as if he were somewhere else entirely – not on a battlefield, but in a hellish sort of dream.
