Extract 1
At first he had driven the stolen horse hard, but now, after a long, gruelling ride, the animal was flagging and refusing to respond. Wounded, cold and desperately tired, it took every ounce of his remaining strength to nudge the reluctant steed onwards.
Deliberately skirting the major roads and slouching low in the saddle, he rode along a broad farm track which bordered the dense forest. There was a dusting of snow on the ground and the bruised sky threatened more to come.
His vision blurred abruptly and, desperately afraid of blacking out, he tried to sit up. Piercing agony from the wound in his shoulder throbbed unmercifully through his whole body as he moved. Although barely conscious, he was acutely aware that he had lost copious amounts of blood; without immediate treatment, his injury might yet prove fatal. With no idea of where he was, he tried to focus on finding safety, whatever form it might take, knowing all the while that he dare not risk the open roads.
As the horse, its bony flanks heaving, lurched wearily a thunderbolt of pain shot through him, causing the reins to slip from his hands. No longer able to stop himself, he slid from the saddle, crying out briefly before slipping into blessed unconsciousness and hitting the rock hard ground a dead weight. The exhausted horse stood still for a minute then, with a toss of its head, wandered off into the woodland.
© Jane Godman
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