Only the Good Die Young

The northern winter wasn’t something he had ever experienced for- at least, not like this. The snowfall came in heaps, and even within the shelter of the caves, the wind was unforgiving. He had no control over the tremors that rattled his weakened frame. His head throbbed, his throat raw and inflamed. Each cough that ravaged his lungs caused bursts of pain in his chest and neck. Fight wounds he could understand … but this? It was possibly the most emasculating he’d been subjected to- being brought to his knees by a little chill. He didn’t regret his actions at Dreamer’s Col. However, he could have done without the souvenir.

As he lay propped up against the cavern wall, Aresenn watched the winter storm rage through narrowed eyes. Close enough to the entrance to see out, but tucked far enough in to try and beat as much of the wind chill as possible. Drifting in and out of fever dreams left him more exhausted than actual sleep. So the ideal unconsciousness was given up on long ago, as he lay contemplating the actions that got him to this point. Maybe leaving the Raiders had been a poor decision on his part. At least the beach had been warm.

"Aresenn Praetor"
208 / 1500 words