Ronan's legs shook as he stumbled across the broken streets, a heavy sack bouncing painfully against his back. Each step was agony—his muscles screamed, his knees nearly buckled. The bag was stuffed so full that it sagged awkwardly to one side, pulling him down with every movement. Any sane person would have thrown half the supplies aside just to move faster, but Ronan clutched the straps tighter.
He fell once, hard enough that the stones cut into his palms. The impact jarred his spine, and he cried out as he tried to rise. The sack pinned him to the ground, dragging him flat like a stone around his neck. He lay there, gasping, his frail body demanding surrender. Just drop it. Just let go.
But he didn't. With a groan, he rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl, dragging the sack with him. Every pull forward left his arms trembling, but he gritted his teeth. Not far now. Just a little further.
