There was scurrying among the rocks and that was what woke him. Rats, he thought. Come to feast on my hide. The smell of death was around him and in him. He tried to turn on his side and he screamed in agony. Bone jutted from his shoulders and blood poured from it. Biting his lips, he tried to stand but found his legs useless. They were broken. Crawling, he managed to fight his way, inch by inch toward the soft grass, away from the horse's carcass.
I will not die, he told himself. I will not die.
I will have my revenge.