She could still be useful, if she lives.

He had worried this might happen, that she would slow him down. Still, it might be better to try and help her, she had value, if she lived. “Alright,” he said stumbling to his feet, noticing that it was difficult to put weight on his left leg. “when I lift the coach, you have to drag yourself clear. Understand?” She nodded, her pain addled mind to hurt to understand the impossibility of what he was suggesting. “Ready?” He asked.

She nodded and he closed his eyes for a second, calling the darkness inside of him. Opening his eyes, he held his skeletal hands out in front of him. Suddenly dark shimmering versions of his arms appeared a couple feet to each side. They were four times the size of his own arms, and had claws for fingers. Thrusting his hands forward, the shadow limbs slammed into the ground, scooping their claws beneath the wagon. With a groan of pain, he lifted his arms, and his dismembered limbs followed suit, lifting the wagon up. Tara rolled onto her left shoulder toward the wagon, and for a moment he grimaced in anger, until she rolled back the other way, forcing herself to roll clear.

As he dropped the huge wagon with a crash, he could hear her sobbing in pain. Limping over to her, he knelt next to her, unsure how he was going to get them out of this. “I can barely walk, I can't carry you.” He murmured to himself.

Suddenly her small hand reached out and gently took his left calf in hand. Her hand glowed for a moment, and his leg felt better. “It's, all I...” she murmured, falling ****

“It's enough.” He replied, though she couldn't hear him. Searching around, he gathered his helmet, and some water. He could survive without food for awhile, if he had to. Picking her up, his left shoulder protested, and he was **** to throw her over his right, using his arm to hold her still, since his right hand still didn't work properly

Hours of following the old road past, and Artur took breaks when he had to. His life as a bounty hunter, made him dogged in his pursuit of reaching the small hamlet. Even with his endurance however, his pain, his burden, it was to much, and when night came he had to make camp. Laying the blond woman down, he sat next to her, his back against a tree, and glance at her beautiful frame. She better live, and make this shit worth it to him.

The next morning, he picked up the **** woman and set out again. By midday he finally made it the outskirts of the small town. The hamlet wasn't how he remembered It. It was dilapidated, and in a state of disrepair. People moved about the streets as if an ephemeral burden rest upon their shoulders, crushing their spirits. It wasn't just the people. The plants seemed to be in poor shape as well, even the huge central oak that had stood for decades at the center of town, was dark, twisted, and dying.

Carrying his burden through the streets he saw the bell tower of the abbey. The building was a spiring four stories, though the last two were simply made up of the bell tower. The solid stone structure, seemed to have fallen in disrepair, much like the rest of the town. He had never spent much time in that place, though perhaps they had some healers of some kind.

The alternative was the tavern. The inn was a large three stories building made of sturdy wood. It to had fallen on hard times and now stood in disrepair, with boarded windows, and missing shingles. Hard times or not, he could still hear loud noises emanating from the large structure, indicating it was as busy as ever. Artur had spent many days in that place, sneaking in, stealing drinks from drunks who were to busy to notice.