Magnus stood in a clear-ish area in the mangrove, cursing his luck under his breath. His leg had healed over now, the wound closed over. But he was left with a god damned stump, up to his pastern had been amputated. God it was so fucking annoying. What the hell had he done to deserve this?! The gods were punishing him, but for what? He had been a fucking good person all his life! He growled and stared at the stump. He had to get the rhythm. He kept tripping, them he faced the struggle of getting up again. He had the basic sort of movement, but when he tried to move at any speed he ended up stumbling. It was just so... Argh! He grunted and began again. Edging forwards slowly, after about ten metres at a snail's pace he sped up a little, almost at a very slow walking pace, another ten metres, a little faster, another ten metres, he was almost trotting now. Just as a triumphant smile began to spread across his lips he lost the rhythm, and he tripped, he flew forwards. Then landed in a sprawled heap on the ground. "ARGH! FUCKING HELL!" He growled, just as he had been getting a knack for it. He hauled himself awkwardly up off the round and cursed. I swear the gods hate me he grunted and glanced around, hoping that no one had seen his fall.
"Speech"
