The pain of a stab wound is so peculiar. You feel nothing at first, just the discomfort of having something in your ribs that shouldn’t be there. Most people scream out of shock rather than pain. Seeing a piece of metal sticking out of your body is a terrible omen. When the surprise is gone comes warmth. Hot blood comes streaming out, soaking your clothes, giving you a moment of hope that it’s not so bad.

Then comes pain. Excruciating agony drops you to the ground. You hold on to your wounded body, screaming like a wild animal. A fire burns inside the wound, and every move kindles it further.

One such unlucky soldier crawled on his back in the mud, leaving a trail on the ground. He was already in pain. He felt the fire but refused to give in to the thought of dying. The man pushed off with his feet and one arm. The other one was pressed tight to his chest in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. Being on his back alleviated the pain, but any move was close to making him pass out.

It was silent. Oh, so silent. Dead men littered the ground, not making a sound. Only he kept groaning. He didn’t have the strength left to yell. Why did it have to be in the chest? He would gladly spare an arm or a leg to stop this agony. Unfortunately, he could not. He had to stand up. He had to find help.

His muscles tensed in a desperate effort to sit, but a wave of agony washed over him. No, sitting up this way was impossible. But if he crawled to a tree, he could use it for support. He pushed off with his leg, trying to keep his body relaxed. Maybe the wound wasn’t that bad, he thought. He would be dead already if it was. The pain was a good sign. It meant he was still alive.

Like a wounded beast, he tried to run away. After what seemed like hours, his head finally felt the soaked, crude bark of a tree trunk. He didn’t have much time with all that lost blood, but this was his first sign of hope. Standing up could very well kill him, but staying in the mud was sure death.

The soldier pressed towards the tree trunk with all his strength. He put his feet under him and pushed in desperation. Push you bastard, he thought. His heels dug in the soft ground, shoulder pressed against the bark, tearing his flesh as he rose. His body slowly moved up, but the pain was becoming unbearable. He felt warm blood trickling down his belly under the armor. Still, he pressed on. His insides burned, but he was almost up. A little bit more, just a little bit more.

Then he heard bones crunching, and he was back in the mud, screaming. His broken ribs were piercing his flesh and muscles. The forest echoed with his yells. There were no birds around to fly away in fear, only the soulless bodies of his brothers in arms - they were good listeners. The soldier tried to calm his breath, driven by the wild beating of his heart, pumping blood out of him. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was really going to die this time.

“Who are you, soldier?” - a gentle feminine voice asked next to him.

A slender pale woman stood leaning on the tree next to him. She was so thin and frail, yet she stood stronger than the hundred years old oaks around her. She wore a long white dress that gently fell on the dirt and danced over it like waves on a calm day. The gown was spotless, not a single drop of mud or blood on it. Her tiny feet peeked through the white fabric as she stepped towards the soldier, clean as well. It was as if the mud refused to touch her. Branches made way for her, gently moving out of her way. Pitch black hair streamed down like a waterfall, and a pair of eyes looked down at the soldier between her locks.

Still gasping, Roric looked at her, hoping she wasn’t a vision or a product of the blood loss. She could help him up. She could find help. He looked at the pale woman in desperation, pleading, begging. But she didn’t seem moved, only curious. Her eyes, black as a moonless night, were fixed on his. She heard every word, but she showed no pity. She could help him. But she wasn’t here to do that.

“What’s your name?” - the woman in white asked again.

“My name is Roric.” - the soldier said when the realization finally came upon him - “And I’m about to die.”