Saints and Soldiers: Operation Horseback

        Deacon could feel the warm grass under his frostbitten hands, the feeling soothing to his battered body. He enjoyed the way the warm forest wind glided over him, ruffling his short hair like a proud, nonexistent father. His eyes remained closed, not wanting to see whatever was beyond. He knew he was dead, but he wanted to smell and hear the sounds Heaven gave off.

        It felt good to finally be in Summer weather; he missed the warmth his little town in Arizona, back home, brought him. Maybe God figured he'd like it more here if it smelt like something familiar.

        Deacon sniffed, the sweet smell of Nature filling his nostrils. Although, something else was laced with it; something that didn't belong. It was sweet, although not the good kind. The scent tickled his nose, his thoughts changing from the forest smell to the odor of something much more sinister. Something much more.. familiar.

Decay.

        He slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see the majestic white clouds above, which the Celestial Kindom gave off. Instead, he was greeted by dark green overgrowth. The leaves on the trees overhead rustled, the wind growing in intensity. For a moment, Deacon laid there, stunned by the turn of events. If he wasn't in Paradise, where was he?

        Deacon started to get up when a blistering pain shot from his shoulder. He gasped for breath as the fire-like feeling traveled around in his body, leading from his shoulder, to his chest, then his lung, and finally, the lower left-hand side of his torso. When he found the strength to lift his head up and inspect the pain, his breathed hitched. The bullets wounds were back. He certainly wasn't dead.

        The blood that stained his Nazi uniform was an ugly, dark brown color. He weakly reached his hand over to stroke his wounded spots, and felt that the blood had crusted over, and was dry. He had been out for a long time.

        "The bullets are still in," Deacon thought miserably. "...Well, first thing's first."

        Deacon shakily drew his hand to his back left pocket and wrapped his crusty-blooded fingers around the familiar handle of his hunting knife. With some effort, he slowly pulled it out and set it on the floor beside him. He then unbuttoned his uniform and lifted his undershirt, his bruised and muscled chest bare. The wounds on his body were ugly and scarred over unevenly, folds of new skin slowly and desperately trying to repare the hole. His entire chest was caked with the filthy residue, the source of the scent of decay. When he picked up the hunting knife from the grassy ground and hoisted it up to the wound, it quivered in his hand. All of a sudden, he had different thoughts about the inevitable. The gory blade hovering over the ugly patch of a scar suddenly looked very sinister. It kept shaking and swaying in his grasp, and not just from the winds, which were now gusty.

        He cleared his mind, knowing the wound would get worse with the bullet still lodged in his chest. It needed immediate attention or the weak skin would grow stronger, permanently lodging the bullet in. Besides, he had two more to go after this one. If he chickened out now, there was no chance of survival.

      He took a couple deep breaths, and slowly leveled the sharp knife to the wounded flesh. He let the tip of the blade rest on the top of the painful patch of flesh, feeling the stinging pin-like sensation ruefully. There was a wet "sshlicke" as the blade sank into the weak skin, carefully and wearily. The blade sliced through his wounded flesh like a hot knife through butter, and the pain was instant was excruciating. Blood gurgled from the knife's entree point, the thick residue bubbling and painting the once-silver blade dark red. He bit his uniform collar to stifle a whimper as he dug inside his inards, trying to find the hard bullet. After a few seconds of no such luck, Deacon intensified his efforts. He could feel the sharp blade shifting around muscle, grinding bone, and slicing skin.

        He felt his knife strike something hard. The metallic "clank" which sounded above the Corporal's pained groans told him all he needed to know. Deacon quickly shifted his knife to wedge the bullet out, then started pulling. After what seemed like an eternity of pain, the bloody bullet popped out of his wound, followed by a thin string of blood. The bullet landed on the grassy ground beside him quietly as Deacon breathed a sigh of relief.

        "One down," he sighed. "...Two to go."

        As his chest burned with an unquenchable fire of pain, Deacon positioned the knife over the next wound: his lung. Prepared for the inevitable pain, he sank it in with another grotesque wet sound. He groaned as he steadily searched his innards, the pain bearable, but still excruciating.

        The wind around him gusted through the trees, tearing off leaves and bark pieces. In a spam of seconds, the gentle breeze turned into a increasingly intense wave of air. It whistled as it raced between the tree trunks around him, streaming through his short hair like sand in the wind. The dark, night sky was now filling with storm clouds, thunder occasionally booming in the sky.

        Not paying the bad weather any heed, Deacon winced as the blade scraped against more muscle, the blood painting his hand and blade a dark red. His panting soon subsided, replaced by a relieved sigh. There was a metallical "click!" as another gore-coated bullet joined its companion on the forest ground beside him.

        "Last one," he said in his mind.

        The knife was slowly shifting locations to his lower torso when there was a loud, splintering sound. Deacon looked over just in time to see a tree branch, half-rolling, half-flying towards his head. He ducked at the last second, the branch narrowly missing his nose. As it thundered past him, Deacon was instantly up.

        Even though the pain in his wounds intensified and started bleeding anew, that wasn't enough to cloud his thinking. The wind was now unbearably intense, forcing the soldier to squint just to see correctly. Leaves and bark pieces flew at him, bouncing harmlessly off his Nazi uniform and battered face. Then a wicked, booming sound came overhead.

        Deacon looked up to see the storm clouds above twirling in formation, both thunder and lightning doing their work alongside. The black gases overhead slowly formed a shape which made the wounded American blanche. A cinder cone.

It's a tornado.

        His hunting knife was now in its sheath as he ran, or more-so shambled, away. He stumbled across the grassy floor, the pain in his chest irritated from the sudden movements he was making. More thunder sounded overhead as he quickened his pace, desperately trying to escape the area of the forming tornado's destruction.

        He prayed as he went, in his mind. His hands were clasp together in a ball and his head was bowed as he spoke to his Heavenly Father. As he ran, he asked him for luck and guidance, and to somehow escape the horribly lethal weather.

        His lack of attention to the forest ahead proved to be fateful. A log caught his foot, taking away all balance and control. He fell, very briefly yelping as he went. The landing was soft, although his wounds begged to differ. His undershirt was stained red as blood dripped through the thick uniform. He gasped for breath as it suddenly became very hard to breath. The wound located on his lung was the cause of the turn of events. It felt like a freezing sphere was in the center of his chest as he wheezed, desperately searching for fresh oxygen.

        The tornado was now halfway to the ground, and Deacon saw it was at least half a mile from his current location. Even though it wasn't coming down on his head, it was still very bad, and was going to make the rest of his pained trip difficult.

        He switched to quick and rapid breathes, which proved to help a lot. The cold ball in his chest slowly dissipated, and his breath returned. Deacon scrambled up and continued on his painful way, leaves and twigs flying past him; captives of the savage winds.

        He didn't know how to treat a bullet to the lung; all he knew was that the quick thinking of dislodging the bullet may have just saved his life. A bullet to the pulmonary area usually meant death, and there were never exceptions to that. However, here he was, alive, with a wound to his key of breath.

        "Am I gonna keep having these pulmonary attacks?" Deacon asked to himself as he kept trudging through the windy forest. "If so, that'll prove to be very annoying in the future."

        He momentarily paused to lean on a tree, the pain in his chest sending shock waves of the firey feeling throughout his body. He panted hard as he stood there, then doubled-over as he vomited. He crouched there, shocked to see yesterday lunch's second appearance. He quickly convulsed again, hacking out a couple more small puddles of the horrible residue. The numb feeling in his gums and throat were gone as quickly as they appeared, having done their job. His mind clouded as he inhaled, breathing in the once-peaceful forest air.

        After a couple seconds of rest, he was off again, deliriously walking as fast as he could through the forest of spiraling, hectic leaves and twigs.

-  -  -

        Applebloom watched the storm outside, entranced by its smooth, hectic movements through the window. She was always entranced by how quickly weather changed, and how violent the consequences could be. A minute ago, it had been a normal night around the sleepy farm, the Everfree Forest being as calm as ever. Now, that was not the case.

        She sighed, the true nature of things coming back to mind. Pegasi controlled the weather and clouds, so there was bound to be some on the top of the swirling mass of dark clouds. Most likely Pegasi Bloficans snuffing out an Equestrian camp. If that was true, then the enemy had broken one of the most important rules of war.

        Equestrian War Rules was a list of customs and rules which all soldiers, both enemy and ally, had to follow. The first rule: never get fillies or colts involved. Even the enemy respected that rule, having never held a filly hostage or forced a colt under 18 to join army ranks.

        The second: always be aware your enemy is the bad guy, but still respect them. That rule, the Bloficans mutilate every other day. From burning homelands down, gassing farms and gardens (although burning is quicker, gassing is more disrespectful on multiple levels), and spitting at them while they fought. The Bloficans were honorless, cruel ponies, who never thought twice before spitting on their victims' bodies.

        The third was that no side could use their Pegasi population's ability to control weather to their advantage. They can make it rain on battlefields or make their homeland sunnier, but nothing extreme. That was the second rule the Bloficans followed, although now their obedience may have ended.

        It was then when something caught her eye. A flash of dark gray and peach appeared at the edge of the hectic Everfree Forest. She squinted her eyes and leaned forward, her snout almost touching the cold glass of the window. Yes, there it was.

        She recognized the dark gray as a coat, evident by its clinging onto its host while the rest whipped at the direction of the tornado. Further inspection proved that the figure was wearing a helmet, boots and pants of the same color. It was freakishly tall, and seemed like it stood on two legs.

        "Applejack," she called. Even though it was night, and most of the house was quiet and asleep, she knew her big sister could hear her. After a couple seconds of nothing, she called louder. "Applejack!"

        There was the sound of hooves clopping towards her room slowly. Applebloom turned as the door opened, revealing Applejack standing in the doorway. Her mane was a mess, and bags were under her eyes as she yawned. "What is it, Sis?" She asked, her voiced tired.

        "There's somepony out there," Applebloom said, her attention returning to the window. She could hear her sister trotting over to her as she also looked out the window, green eyes squinting. Those squinting eyes widened as she realized her sister was right.

        "...the Faust.." she mumbled, rubbing her eyes and blinking hard, as if the tall figure in the distance was some type of mirage.

        Applebloom gasped quietly as she saw the figure stumble. It then crawled for a little while, finally emerging from the thick forest into open ground. It then wavered for a moment, then collapsed.

        After a few seconds of silence between the two sisters, Applebloom spoke up.

        "I'll go pick 'im up."

        Applejack shook her head. "No. He may be a Blofican."

        "Well, then, we'll interrogate him. C'mon, Applejack, he'll die out there!"

        "He'll kill you the moment he sees you."

        "No, he won't." The words came from Applebloom's mouth before she knew what she was saying.

        "How do you know?"

        Applebloom blinked at the collapsed figure in the distance, tilting her head. Something about it just made him seem harmless. Somehow, she had no doubt of what she was saying was true as she retorted, "I just.. know."

        Applejack sighed, and turned to her sister. "Applebloom, sometimes hard decisions have to be made--"

        "What if that was you?"

        For once, Applejack was silent as she steadily looked outside.

        "...What if it was me?"

        Applejack looked down, feeling the familiar sting of guilt in her heart. "...Okay. Ah'll go an' get 'im."

        "Sorry, already beat ya to it!"

        Applejack barely had time to gasp as her younger sister dashed out of the room. "Applebloom!" she called, but to no avail. Unfortunately, her sister shared the older mare's speed and stubbornness, so both catching and talking it out were out of the question. Applejack sighed, then rubbed her temples with her hooves, aggravated. She could now only hope the figure in the distance was an ally.

-  -  -

        Applebloom had to put a hoof over her face to shield herself from the oncoming wind. The instant she opened the front door, leading outside, air rushed at her face. The whistling and the thunder overhead made her start to rethink her decision, but those thoughts were instantly shoved to the back of her mind. She knew what had to be done.

        Her gamboge eyes were watering as she felt the brutal winds collide with her sensitive irises, but not enough to obscure her vision through squinted eyes. The collapsed figure was now a couple scores of yards away, and was closing in fast with her powerful legs thundering from underneath her.

        The coat the bipedal wore was dark gray in color, and was tight at the torso. Two flaps at the lower back were whipping side to side at the wind's mercy. It also wore some type of baggy pants, which were colored the same as the jacket above. Thin, black boots covered its lower hooves, or what looked like feet.

        Applebloom observed all those details by yards away. Her expert eyesight was something she took pride in, and it had helped her greatly in the present.

        As she neared the fallen figure, the wind increasingly strong, she discovered he wore a helmet. It was round and tiny, different from the helmets her allies and enemies wore.

        She finally stopped running, slowing to a jog as the creature in front of her was within jumping distance. When she reached the mysterious bipedal, she could hear it mumbling something in a young, male voice. He sounded around twenty.

        As she inspected him further through squinted, watery eyes, she discovered he had hands, along with five fingers on each one. That was weird; the only person she knew who had hands was Spike, and he only had four. The fingers were blackened and bloodied, which caught her off guard. Sympathy poured in her heart as she inspected more wounds across his body and back. His peculiar uniform was torn and ragged, and his helmet was dented. That was the first thing she needed to take care of; a dented helmet could cut off the blood flow to the brain, or even fracture the skull.

        A sudden, gusty wind brought her back to the situation at hoof. She bent down, wrapping her arms around the strange newcomer's neck. Applebloom then hoisted him onto her back, surprised to find how heavy he was as she started to gallop back to her farmhouse. The gusting winds around them didn't conceal the fact her companion was still mumbling. His helmet fell off as he jumbled around on her back, although she didn't notice.

        After about half a minute of galloping through windy and hectic weather, she reached her house. The yellow earth pony recognized her older sister holding the door open for them, urging them in as the wind whipped her mane from side to side. The moment Applebloom entered the warm house, the wind ceased.

        The mare heard her sister close the door behind her as she set the bipedal creature on the kitchen table, and flicked on the light. The wind, although she couldn't feel it, was whistling outside, high pitched in its natural song. Applebloom turned the biped on his back, and instantly recoiled at the sight.

        Four bloody wounds adorned the creature's front. They were bullet holes, the wounds' stench instantly filling her nostrils, also attracting a couple flies in the room.

        She swatted them away as she peeled his uniform back, to reveal a white undershirt, bloodier than the thick uniform. She lifted that up, too, and discovered a hairy, muscled torso, home to the four, ugly wounds.

        "Applejack!" she cried as she turned towards her orange sister. "He's wounded!"

        It was then Applebloom noticed the creature's face. It was peach in color, and was filled with bruises and cuts. It had blonde stubble on its cheeks, chin, and above its small, upper lip. The half beard was the same color as its hair, which was only a couple centimeters longer. Its jaw was rounded, and it had defined cheek bones.

        The small eyes were a chocolate brown. She knew this because the biped's two irises were wide open, staring right at her.

        For a moment, the two just stared at each other. No words were exchanged between the pair, as the ability to talk was suddenly impossible. The bipedal blinked, then slowly lifted its hand towards her. The fingers were cracked and frostbitten, but none were shaky. The hand's movement was smooth and gentle, like someone tentatively reachoing towards a wild animal. The five-digeted hand stopped a couple inches from the equine's face.

        Applebloom stared down at the human, curiosity and wonder in her large eyes. Never had she seen any creature like this before. The extended hand looked peaceful and delicate, the peach color calming Applebloom. Her heart warmed as she slowly reached her head forward, sniffing the tattered limb. Her nostrils instantly filled with bizzare scents and messages, and she almost flinched at the many visions which came to mind.

        She looked from the open hand back to the owner's face, and was surprised to see the weird creature crying. Tears slowly trailed down its peculiar face as its eyes were stained red. Its mouth opened, revealing white, smooth teeth, with sharp canines. An omnivore?

        For a couple seconds, the creature just layed there, with its hand outstretched and its mouth open. She was expecting for it to whine or growl, or emmit an animal noise of some sort. Applebloom was caught completely offguard as the brown-eyed human said:

        "...What are you?"

        Applejack held onto the cloth to stifle the human's pained screams, the muffled voice sounding pitiful and pathetic. He squirmed, wailed, and kicked his long legs, but none were powerful enough to knock the strong earth pony away. She grunted as the bipedal continued to struggle, desperately trying to avoid the sharp knife her little sister was trying to work through his muscles with.

        The human obviously wasn't trying to fight; even though Applejack was unfamiliar with this species' body parts, she knew muscle when she saw it. This creature had them; a lot of them, but none were working hard. It was obviously a vain struggle, as if he already knew he didn't have a chance of escaping; like an animal dying.

        "Keep him still!" Applebloom said, a little too loud. The mare pulled the gory kitchen knife out of the bullet hole, which was bleeding anew.

        They were interrupted by Rainbow Dash grunting from upstairs. After a couple painful seconds, the said pegasus was down the stairs, her mane disheveled from sleep. A little drool was dribbling down her chin as she grunted, "I can't sleep with you guys making that ruckus. How--"

        The blue mare's sentence was cut short as she spotted the struggling human, bleeding and grunting. She gasped as she saw how amateurly Applebloom was trying to dig out a bullet.

        "Applebloom, why are you using a kitchen knife for that?!"

        The mentioned mare glanced behind her at Dash, and said, "I'm doing the best I can! He'll die if I don't get it out."

        "He?" Rainbow asked, peering down at the peculiar looking creature. His face was scrunched up in pain while Applebloom worked on his wound, doing a bloody and messy job. His limbs were held down by Applejack, who was also holding a cloth to his mouth. That was good; it blocked his teeth's passage to eachother so they wouldn't grind and damage themselves, while keeping his cries of pain muffled.

        "Applebloom," the cyan pegasus said as she flew over to the struggling trio. "That's not how you do it."

        "And you would know?" Applebloom retorted, her full attention on her nasty work.

        "For you information, I actually do!" She swatted the blunt knife from the yellow mare's hoof, who responded with a irritated 'Hey!' Rainbow Dash started searching the human's uniform, trying to find a sharper knife, more fit for the job.

        "What are you doing?" the anxious young mare behind her yelped.

        "Searching for a hunting knife. Any soldier worth his rank would have one." Rainbow Dash was answered with a bruised, shivering outstretched hand which held a knife. Her breath hitched as she looked from the weirdly shaped hand to the owner: the human underneath her. The room went silent as Rainbow Dash leaned in towards the creature.

        "...Can you understand me?" she couldn't help but whisper.

        The bipedal smiled through the cloth, which caught Dash completely offguard. "It surprises me just as much."

        Her attention snapped back to the bullet in what seemed like his gut. Applebloom's crude attempt had certainly not done any good; the wound was even more grotesque, muscles and gore stripped to pieces. The bloody mess would have brought any lesser ponies' breakfast up their throat, but Rainbow Dash had experience. She expertly stitched the knife through his bloodied skin, wedging it between the hard muscles. The human's yelps and screams died down to grunts and wheezes, most likely because of Dash's more useful work.

        After a couple seconds, the bullet was bouncing off the table, with metallic clinks accompaning it. The human breathed a sigh of relief as Applejack removed the cloth from his mouth.

        "Thank you--"" His gratitude was prematurely cut off as his hunting knife was up to his throat.

        Applebloom gasped. Rainbow Dash shifted the knife, pressing it against his large Adam's Apple.

        "Are you a Blofican?" she said accusingly.

        The human grunted, the bloody, sharp knife digging uncomfortablely in his neck. "What?"

"Are you a Blofican?" Rainbow Dash struck his forehead with the corner of her hoof, drawing blood.

        The victim yelped at the sudden attack, squinting as the blood leaked into his eye. "No! Whatever that is, no!" He roughly pushed her away, holding his bleeding eye.

        Rainbow Dash was shoved back by a yellow hoof, as Applebloom frowned at her.

        "Just what in the Faust do you think you're doing?" the Southern mare growled.

        "I'm trying to protect us," the cyan pegasus retorted. Applejack was apologizing to the human as she already started to tend to his wounds.

        "He's not the enemy; stop trying to make everypony hostile!" Applebloom narrowed her eyes, face inches to Dash's, who kept an equally angry face. "You're not the leader, so stop acting like it."

        The cyan pegasus growled, but didn't say anything. It was true; ever since the fateful start of the War, she grew a tendency to act like the boss. Then again, they all changed in some way, including Applebloom. What right did the farm pony have to criticize her for it?

        "I swear," she continued, her voice a hostile whisper. "You were a better mare before this war started."

        Rainbow Dash's eyes narrowed as she retorted, "So were you."

        Applebloom firmly shoved Rainbow Dash away, as if a final show of frustration. The mares both stared at eachother coldly for a while, then Applebloom turned around. The cyan pegasus' eye twitched as the yellow mare trotted back to the creature.

        "Don't mind her," Applebloom said gently as she neared Deacon. "She's a little hostile towards newcomers."

        Surprisingly, the bipedal didn't seem irritated or angry. Instead, he was smiling sheepishly. "Don't worry about it. I know someone like that."

        Applebloom nodded and smiled, already growing fascinated with the newcomer. "Well, thanks for not letting her get to ya. I'm Applebloom." She extended her hoof for a hoof bump.

        "Cpl. Greer, 101st airborne." He shook her hoof, causing one of her eyebrows to raise.

        "Corperal Greer One Hundred First Airborne? That's a mouthful."

        'Greer' chuckled. "That's not my name. I'm Nathan. But you can call me 'Deacon.'"

        Applebloom inspected Deacon, fascinated. He has two names? That's weird.. Almost as weird as his hoof bumping. Applebloom looked down at her hoof, Nathan's hand still holding it. The sensation of his fingers wrapped around her single hoof felt.. unique. The way his indexes coursed around her hoof sent shivering, unfamiliar feelings traveling up her arm, throughout her body. Curious, she leaned down and sniffed the unfamiliar limb. Deacon chuckled nervously as Applebloom squinted as she smelt the indexes.

Smells like gun powder and smoke.. They're dirty and bruised, so he's certainly experienced in some way of battle. I don't see any of the knuckles bleeding, so he's not a close range guy. Maybe a Sniper. They're frostbitten, too.. That's weird; Winter won't be here for a couple more weeks.

        "Are you a Sniper?" Applebloom asked. The question came out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

        Nathan seemed impressed as he said, "I don't really like the name 'Sniper'; I prefer 'Marksman.' You got that by smelling my hand?"

        She smiled proudly. "I can get a lot of things by scent; it's my special talent. Well, behind building things."

        "So, your name's Nathan?" Rainbow Dash spoke up from behind them. The latter nodded with a smile, but was interrupted by the cyan pegasus cutting him off. "What kind of a name is that? I like Deacon better."

        Both Applebloom and Applejack gasped at the pegasus' harsh words, but Deacon just sighed.

        "Most people say that," he said with a shrug. "I kinda like Deacon myself. It's a cool nickname my friends gave me."

        "Well, I think 'Nathan' is unique," Applebloom retorted, frowning at the cyan mare. She lifted up her chin as she said, "there's nothing wrong with somepony having a different name."

        The young mare then noticed the entire room was looking at her, making the color in her cheeks darken. "Anyways," she turned back to Deacon, who was a little dumbfounded at how easily the cyan and yellow mares could irritate each other. "That is Rainbow Dash, and the other is Applejack, my big sister."

        The latter smiled, extending her hoof toward the human. Deacon did his bizzare hoof bump, and smiled also. Rainbow Dash stood stoic at the entrance of the room.

        "What division and rank are you?" Nathan asked, provoking the three ponies all to look at each other, confused. Deacon sighed, knowing the translation. "Civilians?"

        "Yeah, but we can defend ourselves as much as any soldier," Rainbow Dash grunted.

        Applejack rolled her eyes at her friend's hostility. "She ain't the respectable type. Might as well get used to it.."

        The said pegasus yawned suddenly, ignoring the orange pony's comment. "Whelp, I'm beat. I'll see all of you tomorrow." She then walked up the stairs, her hooves clopping loudly as she made her way up to the higher level.

        "Ah' suppose we all best get some shut-eye," Applejack said. "It was nice to meet ya, Deke."

        Nathan instantly felt a sharp pang of sadness. "Deke" was what his best friend, Gunderson, used to call him. Memories of their brother-like friendship flashed in his head as his eyes began to water.

        Both Applejack and Applebloon noticed it, and the former felt guilt creep into her heart. "I.. don't think you should call him that," Applebloom whispered.

        "Ah'm sorry, Deacon," Applejack said as she put a hoof on his shoulder. "Even though Ah' don't know what memories that name brings back, Ah'll try not to call you that anymore."

        Deacon nodded his thanks with a sad smile. "It's okay." The way his voice cracked told them it was not okay at all.

        "Hey," the orange mare smiled. "How 'bout we get ya somewhere to sleep here tonight?"

        He looked like he was going to refuse before Applebloom chuckled. "She wasn't asking," the yellow mare said with a smile. "As laid back as she normally is, she is stubborn."

        "Not as stubborn as you were that one Hearth's Warming--"

        "Shhh! Don't tell him that!" They both giggled sisterly, but Deacon did not share their joy. All he wanted to do was sleep..

        In fact, this table didn't seem half bad. Even though it was hard and bloody, it was comfortable. He felt his eyes slowly close, before surrending to the sleep that he so desperately needed.