When I finally got his legs under him, he trickled out of me sweat, I labored breathing and the pain increased. Instead, I opted for a short break where I grabbed a lost breath and started to get up on its hands. It was even worse, but I knew that when I started I can not finish and I have to hurry so I rouse his shattered muscles to move faster, which have taken their toll.
Finally, I participated in the activities of the rest of the body, until I got to his knees and bowed his head to the stele I looked around, as far as I allowed my limited perspective. And as I feared … Around me they were scattered corpses on which he feasted scavengers and in the distance I heard the screams of the wounded, who were “lucky” and survived the bloody carving.