Harkin cracked the whip with an urgency wrought of sheer
terror. His companion and friend slumped at his side, a spear buried
deep in his side, bright blood flowing freely and staining his brown
woolen tunic a dark and ugly red-black.
"Come on, run!" Harkin urged his team, and he cracked the
whip hard again. He couldn't help but consider the terrible irony of
it all. He had been taken from the front lines of battle - a war that
had been raging since he was a very young man - and given the seemingly
safe job of driving Prince Yeslnik about the growing lands of Greater
Delaval. And now this, to be caught and killed on the road!