Matteo didn’t remember the goblin dying. He was sliding in and out of consciousness, no longer fully aware of where he was or what he was doing even as the machete blade cleft its way through the creature’s neck. [i]Just hold on.[/i] It wasn’t even a thought in words, just an urge, a remnant of something his battered mind had once assumed important enough to cling to. He clung to the small monstrosity as its life left its body, and he clung to the body its life had left, and he crushed the headless figure untill his fingernails cracked under the tension. Through his wavering eyes, the world swam with thick colors indistinguishable from the blood which stained the stream around them.

It was dead, and he still held onto it. Stubbornly. Stupidly.

He must have finally blacked out-- he came to choking, mud and water dripping from his nose and lips. The Thief didn’t even have to look down at the carnage before his stomach heaved and bile spiked in his throat, shoulders heaving as he retched. He would not pursue the other goblin. He would be lucky if he could pull himself out of the stream without help. Even after a week of painful experiences, the combined force of his injuries now swelled. Between heaves, his breath hitched as waves of lightheadedness pounded at his skull.

He barely acknowledged when Ash spoke. He didn’t even remember speaking. [b]“Okay.”[/b]

The cold water numbed his bleeding fingertips, but somehow his hands still moved. They began to shake unconsciously as bits of broken nail felt clumsily over the headless corpse, seeking compensation, before he felt at the bottom of the streambed for the fallen dagger.