Alpheo turned away from the place where his "death" had just been unceremoniously trampled into the silt.
The nerve of the man, he thought with a bitter taste in his mouth. To claim the title of an ending, only to find it himself in the gut of a dying horse.
He watched for a moment as one of the Kakunian zealots roared at the sky, hoisting that fool's headless corpse as a trophy while another began stripping the fallen knight's sword and dagger.
A relative of the Prince, the man had claimed. Alpheo scoffed internally. The notion was as likely as a horse sprouting wings; royalty didn't wander the belly of a slaughterhouse without a wall of steel surrounding them.
Then again, Alpheo was here.... still he was a special circumstance, perhaps,in any other case he would have himself be drowned in white cloaks. But life rarely let him have his way.
