It had been a long while since the crew had seen Arthur. Hooves breaking sticks could be heard in the faint distance making Charles, the one on guard, call out for identification. The figure on the horse did not respond. Rather so, they looked to be passed out. Slumped into the horses mane, hands barely gripping at the reins.

As the horse progressed further into the camp, it became very clear that the man on horseback was Arthur. The horse came to a stop. Arthur’s exhausted body collapsed to the ground.

His bruised lips parted, staggered uneven breaths escaped with struggle. His face partially obscured by crimson liquid hotly pressed into wounds left by the O’Driscoll’s that had previously captured him. He was in desperate need of help.

The people of the camp took immediate action, approaching the injured man, some with relieved looks, others with looks of pure horror.