Tyler looked at the man cautiously. He was face down, motionless. The horse lay panting nearby, and Tyler knew it was spent, and would never get up.
Tyler looked around him. He was just out of sight of the village, and no-one else had came to investigate the sounds of the horse. Tyler turned his attention back on the rider. He was dressed in light mail, and a bare sword lay to the man's right.
Kneeling down, he turned the man over, and pulled his hands back in shock. Blood was everywhere, and a slick coating was dripping from his fingers. The man's shoulder had a snapped shaft protruding from a crimson wound. Tyler knew little first aid, but could tell he had lost too much blood. Bending over, he hoisted the man over his shoulders, almost fell over, and put him down again.
Tyler bit his lip, and bent back over the unconscious man. With some effort, and much manipulation, Tyler removed the mail, took off the heavy boots and the helm.
Bending over, he hoisted the man up yet again, and after deciding he could take the lessened weight, made his way laboriously towards the village.
-----------------------
"He'll live. Now, Tyler, for goodness sake, go get cleaned up!" The priest shooed the young man away, sick of his hovering over the figure sprawled on the priest's pallet. The priest sighed inwardly, wondering whether Tyler was thick as well as dumb.
The priest looked at the symbol on the man's tunic, and muttered to himself. No, this would not do. He must get this man away from the village as soon as possible.
A golden eye overlaid with a black dagger. Never a good sign.
The priest shook his head, wondering what the crown's spies were doing so far out.
He tossed a blanket over the resting man, and left the room.
The darkness closed in.
