Foolish men

It was late in the evening when Mercury dragged himself back to the castle. He would be near invisible in the dark, the swirls of gray and black in his coat a perfect match for the shadows. But for the red that trailed down his chest, and soaked his right foreleg. Every step came with an ache, but still he pressed on. He had been forced to abandon the body of the oversized bore that had Skewered him. Worse yet, he had had no choice but to leave behind his sword where it had fallen. 

He stumbled through the courtyard, leaving a bloody trail behind him as he shouldered his way into the castle, turning right as he headed to the infirmary. He pushed open the door, stumbling as he did so. He was getting weaker. He pulled down a box of supplies, failing to keep his grip on it so it tumbled to the ground and spilled its contents on the hard floor.

He left a bloody smare across a number of supplies as he fished out a bandage, and held it up to his chest with a grimace. This next bit would be one of the hardest.