He nests his spear firmly within the inside of his foot. He wants to make sure it doesn't slip backwards and waste all the thrust. He admires the stalk. Made of fine hard wood that has seen so many battles, the notches are too many to remember. He glances upwards to the sharp metal edge as it shines against the sun. He prays "Oh Allah, please let me meet my love or my friend."
He looks across the battlefield. The cavalry is charging. He remembers his training well. He remembers the voice of instructor. He remembers the nights around the fires with his comrades after the emerge victorious from battle.
The dust is getting higher and the enemy is getting closer. His captain orders them to stay calm and hold their position. He remembers his beautiful wife and their son. Wouldn't he be proud of his father today? Sooner or later, he will see them again.
You can see the faces now, as they come closer and closer, and with acceleration. The horses' eyes are red with blood, and rage. His captain orders them to hold again, with increasing resolution and tension. He unconsciously grips tighter on his spear and whispers "Don't fail me my friend".
They are here...
