Edmund desperately ran, tripping occasionally over the fallen and the dying. As they raised their hands imploringly to him, begging for him to help them, they left long bloody trails upon his glistening armour. He kept on running, through the gory and the mud that tried to entrap him, he had to find a horse, he had to escape. His armour dragged him down and weighted heavily on his scrambling limbs and heaving chest and made him hiss with frustration and raising panic. Please God...He whispered hoarsely as he felt helpless tears fill his eyes. He sprinted across the battlefield, running for his very life; he could hear the pounding of heavy hooves riding in the distance. Constant and rhythmic like a drum roll at an execution, even his own heart beat in to the deadly rhythm. It pounding against his ribs as though it was trying to escape his slow body and flee to quickly safety. The sound of the ghostly horses mocked him by not telling him how close they were but he did not dare look back. He was too frightened and determined too. He had to get away, anywhere but here. But he could see nowhere to run. There were no woodlands or holes or houses or horses. There was only a bridge and a small path. In sheer desperation he ran towards the bridge hoping he could hide under it in the small river or he could follow it to safety.
As the bridge got closer, Edmund felt overwhelmed by the weight of his armour and exhausted by his flight across the bloody battlefield. His long legs ached and threaten to cramp and his lungs could no longer hold air. But he could not stop; he could hear the hooves thundering dangerously behind him. 'Father would be displeased if I let him down now...And Brother Edward is sending troops to aid us...Fucking move you bloody weakling!' He wailed as the hot tears poured down his face as he hobbled towards the small bridge. Edward...Father...Mother... He thought weakly as he almost succumb to exhaustion, feeling faint and light headed as he stumbled on as quickly as he could. He was so tired, so very tired, he could barely hear the horses as they approached ever closer. Their hooves were no longer a deadly drum roll but the base of some gentle lullaby willing him to rest. He could even feel his eye closing as his foot touched the start of the bridge. But his eyes sprung open when he heard a single high pitched whiny. Oh God no, He thought with paralyzing panic. He started to sprint across the wooden bridge, trying to pull off his gloves and armour. Panic had taken a hold of him and nothing but the need to escape filled his mind. His armour was being desperately pulled and stripped away like an egg shell and sent crashing down onto the wooden planks of the bridge. They resounded loudly like the fire of a canon only making him more nervous. As he finally freed himself of his chest plate he could see the end of the bridge. He was closer to safety and his family; he could barely hear the hooves over the sound of his hopeful heartbeat in his ear as he run forwards. But then came an odd sensation, someone had thrown warm water across his shoulders and back. He thought it was strange but kept on running but then was crippled with pain and confusion. Why was his back wet? Why could he not move? He had to move or the army would catch up with him. He couldn't understand it. He was across the bridge; he was safe, so why could he not move? But then it became apparent. The soldiers, his enemies, the Lancastrians had merely rode past him. They have spared me? Edmund thought as he fell to his knees as they thundered past him, God be praised. I'm alive! But then he saw the crimson blood gathering around his knees and the bloodied sword in one of the soldier's hands. I cannot die. I am only eighteen... He reasoned as he fell forwards on his fair face. I'm a prince...The true prince...
He could feel no pain for he was numb and suddenly very cold. He could hear only the blurry sounds of words but not the words themselves coming from the soldiers as blood ran down his shoulder and along his jaw line and fair hair. Despite his lingering senses telling him so, he wasn't in that muddy field anymore or on that bridge instead he was safe at home.
He could see his family lounging in the family garden waiting for him, everything painted gold from the garish light of the setting sun. His father, Richard duke of York was sitting on the stone bench as proudly as if he was sitting on the throne that was rightfully his, watching over his children and lands. Besides him, his beautiful and queenly wife Cecily sat contently humming gesturing for Edmund to come sit with them. At his mother's feet was dearest sister Margaret will her nose in book as always but looked up and smiled at Edmund, but his eyes were drawn to the setting sun. Standing in the brilliant and blinding rays sunlight were his brothers, standing side by side. Handsome Edward, the eldest was standing with his arms on his brother's shoulders, guarding and guiding them. George, the second eldest stood looking towards Edmund and the runt of the litter little Richard looked up at him gravely. In his heart Edmund knew that he had failed them and now they would have to fight. It was up to Edward, Richard and George to face the wrath of the revengeful queen and mad king, to fight to stay alive and to battle for the English crown that was rightfully theirs. He looked on proudly at the three brothers dressed in shining armour, standing together in the fading sunlight, waiting to do their duty. They looked so heroic and undefeatable. Edmund faintly smiled at the thought and watched as the sun faded over the family leaving him in total darkness. The last thing he saw was the brothers, the sons of York, ready to fight. The scene gave him comfort and at last he succumb to sleep.
