Clifford winced as he lurched forward, slowly lowering himself off of the horse, stumbling some once he hit the ground. He knelt for a bit, his foot still very much afflicted by an intrusive throwing knife. Riding the horse away from that incident back at the bandits' camp had left him unable to focus on his injury. Once the stinging subsided, he reached down and pulled out the throwing knife with his hand.

More stinging. He paused for a bit, then dug out the fragment of the knife that had broken off by Diana's doing. Times like this he was conflicted about having a full set of teeth to bite down on something with. He got the fragment out, tossed it aside, and then grabbed a cloth rag from one of the satchels attached to the horse's saddle.

The wrap-up was crude, and the horse hadn't been packed with any medical supplies to speak of. Clifford stood up to the best that his condition would allow, and began slowly approaching the occupied campfire ahead.

There was no denying that he [i]needed[/i] help now. He just hoped whoever this man was, he was willing to lend a hand.

Or else this'd be all over right here, right now.

[@c3p-0h]