22: Horn or Antler
His eyes widened in shock and he felt something bubbling in his throat. He knew what it was, of course – it was blindingly obvious to anyone with even half a brain that there was blood in his throat bubbling up from where his lung had been pierced. If the visual of the giant carved horn sticking into him wasn’t enough, the taste of copper creeping up his throat was more than enough.
He coughed, and it hurt so bad that he almost lost consciousness immediately. The only thing that helped keep him grounded was the hand that caressed his face and forced his gaze away from his wound to the eyes of his killer.
An attempt at speech went poorly and resulted in only a feeble gurgle. His killer’s eyes softened in sympathy, which didn’t seem appropriate for someone who had just stabbed him through the chest with a sword carved out of a horn.
“I don’t know why it came to this,” his killer said, sounding sadder than anyone he’d ever heard in his life. “We could have avoided all of this, couldn’t we? There had to be an ending that was better than…”
He moved an arm to try and comfort his killer without much success – he was already losing motor control as his body tried and failed to remain functional. Another fit of coughing seized him.
“Sorry. I know I’m not being fair to you. You’re the one dying, I just have to live with it for the rest of my life. Which seems pretty bad on balance but dying is probably worse. I think.”
To his credit, he managed a shrug before the rest of his life left him. His killer gently laid his body on the ground and whispered a final goodbye before retrieving the sword and walking away into the night. The city watch found the body later that morning.