The wind blew gently against his face, against his stubbled jaw and grimace caused wrinkles. A small droplet of sweat trickling down his cheek is cooled by the wind and causes him to open his eyes and focus. The grass looked garishly green in the bright sunlight, his eyes initially having trouble focusing on the individual blades, regained this ability and locked on to them. His muscles felt abused and wasted, his breath ragged and shallow as he stared directly at the grass and its gentle movements. Carefully, letting his head drop down and his line of sight adjust to his chest, he let this determined stare fall to the sharp point of the arrow jutting out in front of him.

Not long now. The tip of the arrow was a rusty red, the blood already thickening in the hot rays of the sun. The shaft travelled back into his shirt where a darkened patch revealed the point of exit. He didn't raise his hands or touch the arrow, he felt no pain and could only hear his own rough breaths. Lifting his head slowly back up he looked out to the horizon, looking for others, others who have also been unable to avoid the barrage. A few shapes small and large lay in the grass, but the length of the green blades hid them mainly from view. Just dark shapes in the distance, none moving making no sounds.

Everything has led up to this point, everthing that was planned and expected happened exactly as it was explained to him. He knew it was coming, yet still could not believe it. He refused to accept that he would fall, that this arrow would strike and push him to his knees. The battle would be over by now and he knew the result, his sacrifice will guarentee this. Although something is different, he was supposed to fade and collapse the moment the arrow struck. But here he finds himself motionless, on his knees in limbo. Caught between life and death possibly due to his pure stubborn refusal to die.

But what does this mean, was the prophecy fulfilled? Did the fight end the way it was foretold, or does his inability to die change the outcome. He must know, he must find out the truth to settle his mind. No one else knows what was supposed to happen, they were all figures guided by this prewritten rule. All except him, he knew, he always knew. But perhaps he didn't. What if there was no prophecy? What if he sent everyone into this battle, into this destiny which has no predetermined outcome. If this was all a ploy, a trick and they have instead lost the battle and lost the realm. Now he really refuses to die.

Movement in his hands, they plant themselves firmly on the warm earth beneath the grass. His arms slowly straighten causing his legs to rise and his whole body to wrench him up on to his feet. His hands grab the arrow and break the shaft on both sides. His teeth grit sharply together as suddenly pain makes a sharp and constant appearence. He will not allow this to happen, he will not be tricked into leaving his people to die.

Now at full height he roars loudly out across the fields laid out in front of him. "You won't beat me!" His powerful hands have found his sword and shield, he bangs them together creating his own war band, he advertises his prescence to anyone willing to hear. The arrow struck him in the back of the head. The prophecy was complete, just as it was foretold, just as it was explained to him. He fades, just as he was told, the moment the arrow struck. They will remember him, their king, their leader who lead them to victory in the unbeatable battle.