Cold

The powdery snow kicked up as he trudged through it, trying to stem the bleeding of a wound in his side. The spear had gone under the arm, where there wasn't plating. It had been stopped by his ribs. But he had made the mistake of removing the head. Now that the adrenaline of battle was gone, the cold of the forest crept in, like the rain of a heavy storm. Slowly. Gradually. He kept trudging along, his every step making his world tilt just a bit more, Not paying attention to his path, he tripped over an exposed root. With a cry, he tumbled to the ground, kicking up more snow. He landed with a grunt of pain, his wound screaming. He tried to find the strength to get up, but he could not. So began to drag himself, with one hand ont he would. He managed to drag himself to the base of a tree, and got into a sitting position against it. His heart is beating slower and slower, as his thoughts melt togather, his mind succumbing to his injuries and the cold. He looked back at where he came from. A steady trail of red drops, followed by a broad stroke of startlingly bright red, as if someone has used a giant paintbrush. In his last moment, he turned to the sky, the last sight being a blue sky with light snowfall. With that, his eyes became glassy as he released his final breath, it misting in the air.

Author Notes: I think it's good...

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