Strangely, Murphy felt no anger at the Shadow Horse's parting arrogance.
He lay on the ground, feeling his Life Force ebb away from his wounds, clearly counting his broken ribs.
Waves of excruciating pain washed over him, yet he remained exceptionally calm.
For five years, he had single-handedly shouldered the workload of two men.
The other warhorses were tended to by pairs—one person to steady the animal, the other to scrub it down. He, however, had to soothe his horse and clean it all by himself.
When preparing fodder, others had partners to help mix it, but he had to do it all—chopping the hay, mixing the feed—completely on his own.
On the night watch, grooms in other stables took shifts, but he had to wake throughout the night to check on Red Leaf.
He did all this just so he could have a legitimate reason to keep the Deduction of fine feed all to himself.
All so he could successfully practice his Breathing and Guiding Cultivation.
All so he could complete Option Two.
