As he steadies himself on the saddle, Oliver grips it with all of his remaining strength. The world is going grey and fuzzy around the edges and soon even his willpower won't be enough to keep him conscious and aware. He's bleeding to death and if that doesn't take him the exhaustion and dehydration will.

The horse begins to move and every jolt of the hooves on the sand pushes him a little deeper into the world where things are grey and muddled.

Sara. Sara. Sara. Her name drummed into his head with every pound of the horse's steps as Oliver begins to drift. Remembering the steppes, where the air was crisp, clean and frigid, riding his pony with nothing more than his bow and a full quiver of arrows. Free.

He is free again. With her.

Sara

The world goes from grey to black as the horse pulls up to a halt and Oliver does his best to pitch forward, across the muscular neck of the horse to keep from falling.