She awoke from the sound of footsteps near her. No, they weren't footsteps. It was a horse. She quickly got up, and true enough, a dark brown gelding slowly made its' way towards her and the sleeping man beside her. The fire had gone out, and the grass was still white with the early morning frost. It was cold, and she wrapped her blanket closely about her as she watched the sullen horse slowly walk towards them. He wore a halter of leather, and a rope was still attached, as if he had broken free from somewhere or got loose. The girl suddenly grew worried at the thought of a camp being nearby. She thought it odd that a stray horse would come towards them. He was dirty and wet, but he seemed tame, from far away.
A thousand thought raced through her head, and the horse still came. She looked down at the man, at the river, the plains, the horse. Suddenly, frustrated from not getting any answers, she bent down and started shaking the unconscious man. She straddled him and took him by his shirt and pulled him up and thrust him back down, several times. After no response, she shouted, "WAKE UP!" She thrust him back down into the sand again.
The horse had stopped, and stared at her, as if dumbfounded. The stupid man still lay there, taking deep breaths. His fists clenched and unclenched, and his already shut eyes winced as if he were in pain. More blood oozed from the wound on his shoulder, mixed with a white liquid. He still did not wake. The girl kicked him in his side, none too gentle, and then began packing her things. She had been here to long. It was time to leave.