Snatches of consciousness tell me I'm not dead, despite what I expected.
Happily, I don't regain enough consciousness in these moments to feel pain, but I do hear snatches of conversation, and feel rough hands struggling to bind my wounds.
At some point I think I might be carried in someone's lap, bundled up in strong arms. But then again, my mind is hazy, and I remember riding on horseback somehow. The snatches of awareness don't last long enough for me to be able to tell.
A gentle female voice greets my ears when I finally climb out of that fugue.
I'm lying on a bed that may as well be a table for how hard and unaccommodating it is.
The rough sensation of thin fabric on my body indicates my armor was at some point removed. My head hurts like hell. My throat is dry enough that my breathing sounds like sandpaper.
