Three days out from the massacre, the body betrayed me.
Sixteen hours. That's all this flesh-container could manage before it simply gave up. The legs buckled, folding without permission, and I slammed into the dirt road, the impact jarring my teeth.
"My lord!" Taro was there in an instant, a flurry of panicked energy. He dropped his pack with a thud but kept his distance, a dance he'd perfected. "Are you... are you injured? Should this one—? Forgive me, should I fetch a healer? Are you bleeding internally? Is it your heart?"
"The body is malfunctioning," I grated out, shoving a hand down to push myself up. The muscles refused to obey, trembling like a frightened animal. Useless. "Explain this."
He hesitated, wringing his hands so hard I thought he might wring the skin right off them. "My lord... you're just... tired."
"Tired?" I rolled the word around. It felt inadequate, a child's word for this profound system failure. "Elaborate."
