Staggering (Open)
It was an especially cold night, with fierce winds whipping through Ephraim's clothes, cutting down to the skin. He shivered, thankful he was alone, and tried to keep walking.
He had no idea where he was, no conception of how far he'd gone at this point, and his sense of direction from the stars was failing him. And on top of that, the old wound winding up his leg was always aggravated by the cold, and by travel. As far as he could see, there was no one in sight, but still, out of pride, he tried not to limp.
His efforts failed as he hit a stray tree root, hard, and collapsed to the ground.
Humiliating, he thought, remembering how strong his strides used to be. He scrambled at the bark of the tree that had caused the fall and jerked himself back up, trying to ignore the tenderness in his leg, but found he couldn't quite hold himself up without letting go.
It was only then that he heard footsteps, approaching fast. If it was a danger, he couldn't run. And if it was aid... he'd have to take it, no matter how much it wounded his pride.









