He feels himself stumbling as the bloody sword clatters to the ground. Hot blood stings his eyes; he thinks it is a result of slaying the dragon. One of his legs is broken; a sharp pain pierces his leg with each broken step. His foot shuffles inches more, before cold stone cracks against his knees and a cooper taste fills his mouth. Muffled voices cry out to him; a heavy hand, his hand, finds its way to an outstretched arm. He clings on for dear life. He coughs, and the dark liquid soaks the stones beneath him. Another hand, his other, he thinks, finds its way to the gash in his forehead, before smearing the liquid like war paint across his face. The taint in his blood flares, and he clutches the arm again, more violently. His warrior pride clamps his jaw shut, and the scream dies in his throat. Other hands appear to support his shaking form, and a pair of blue eyes, eyes so much like his own, appears in his steadily blurring vision.
He reaches out for her now, his world slowly focusing on a face he has committed to memory beside those of his family. Soft fingers touch his face; her face is inches from his. He watches her shake her head and cry, dark auburn locks splash against her cheeks. There is nothing that she can do for him now, nothing to ease his pain. He grabs her chin, forcing all of her attention on his bloody, broken face. Sweat and grime mix with dirty brown hair, and the colors are fading from his eyes. Blood drips from a shattered nose. His mouth opens to speak, though his words die on the screech of the dying dragon. The taint pulls at him, enticing him in a sweet voice that he is powerless to resist. A violent shove sees her fall to the soaked stones. Another scream and his eyes are consumed in a milky sheen. A violent spasm and the world stops. His time has come.