The man limped forwards through the knee-high mud. His friend, or at least
that was what Azel guessed him to be, was slung over his shoulder. They had
both been fleeing something, and the pair of them were spent. If Azel had been
in control he would have abandoned this man and kept moving, alone.
But he was not in control. Azel's impossible trial was nothing like battling a
powerful foe, or escaping certain doom, or piecing together a great mystery. His
trial was to be trapped in someone else's body, forced to watch as this silly man
refused to leave his already half-dead friend.
It had tested Azel in ways he had not thought possible. It was tedious when the
pair were attacked by a flock of giant crows. It was irritating when the host
body's hand was caught between two rocks and they had to amputate it in order
to keep moving. And it was agony when Azel's human cage kept on marching
with this raven-haired man slung over his shoulder all the while.
