I'm barely functioning. The exhaustion weighs down on me, pressing into every muscle, every bone. Rage and anxiety have been my fuel, the only things keeping me upright, moving, pushing forward. The moment I see the capital's distant lights on the horizon, I can't even muster relief. There's nothing but a hollow ache, a gnawing dread that worsens with every step. My horse gives up not far from the gates, collapsing beneath me. Its sides heave, its eyes rolling, as if it too is consumed by the frantic pace I've set. But I can't care for it. I can't even bring myself to look back at the poor beast as I abandon it, stumbling forward on foot, every step a test of my willpower.