The sun stood high up in the sky. Balisan’s horse was trotting through the low grass, the reigns hanging loosely to the ground. Balisan had left the company soon after they had reached the Breelands. His heart was racing and his right hand kept pressure on the wound that didn’t want to stop bleeding beneath his armour piece. They had risked so much and gained so little, it felt to him. And now this.
Balisan had thought to ride south to Bree or make it to Arrowhaven and find someone who could treat him but he had decided against it for then the others would find out about his wound. He did not know why he had kept it from everyone. The words of Naeglirond rang in his mind. Was he a careless leader, risking the lives of his men to achieve his goals; no matter how honourable the goals.
He was clinging on to the neck of his steed, which was just turning towards the gate of Testlebridge. His left hand was hanging down from the horse, blood running down his arm and dripping onto the darkened soil. There were no guards at the gate who could have seen him, so when he entered the town, almost falling off his horse, it was a young girl that saw him first. As she rushed towards him Balisan looked at her with fading eyes and with his last strength mumbled a “Help,….please”, before losing consciousness.
