I flew above him and he turned and raised his hand, slicing his scimitar through the air and cutting deep into my right wing. I fell to the sand, screaming in pain and frustration, my mind consumed by blinding pain that seared like a white-hot brand through my consciousness.
The horseman wheeled his horse and faced me as I climbed to my feet. Hot embarrassment and fear squeezed out all rational thought. I stumbled forward, struggling to raise the spear as the horseman approached, circling his scimitar in the air. The horse’s red eyes glared, calculating, anticipating.
I felt a million bugs climb over my boots and up my legs, but I refused to look at them. I raised my staff, my muscles trembling with the effort. Pumping my arm, I prepared to throw the spear. The horseman urged his mount into a constant dance, keeping his body from facing mine directly, avoiding my weapon with every move.