PROMPT: Write a story that’s 26 sentences long, one for each letter of the alphabet – which is also how you have to start them.
Aching all over, he dragged himself to his feet. Blood trickled into his eyes from the cut on his forehead. Carefully, he leaned against a tree and touched the wound.
“Damn it,” he hissed.
Even though he’d had head wounds before, he never grew used to the blood. Fingers dripping with the stuff, he pushed off the tree. Gnarled wood was doing his back no favours.
He had no idea where he was now.
Intricately-woven greenery surrounded him, occasionally broken by scrabbling tracks. Just enough to disrupt, maybe enough to be tracked. Keeping some distance was vital, then. Letting himself get captured was not an option. Men would be on him soon, he knew. Nobody had ever survived one of their army’s attacks before, let alone escaped without chase. Only by chance was he even alive, especially after falling off that horse. Perhaps he could find shelter?
Queasiness washed over him from the pain. Right. So shelter was definitely needed, because if he didn’t rest soon, he would collapse. The man limped away from the supportive tree, grasping branches as he passed. Under the tree he had not noticed the pain, but now it pelted him. Veering off-course was easy with the slippery mud underfoot, but he wouldn’t give up. Wouldn’t give in. Xever gritted his teeth, a metallic taste stinging his tongue. Yelling reached his ears, echoing from the distance and signalling that he needed to hurry the hell up.
Zipping his sodden, ruined coat as tightly as he could, he soldiered on.