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Ivan turned, painful bolts shooting through his arm and causing involuntary groans of pain. Then, as he heard hushed whispers and deliberate footsteps, he tried to shut up and listen.
"You lucky shit." An Imperial voice spoke in Kurgan tongue. "You're still alive."
Ivan's knights, 5 of them, together, all wounded, lifted Ivan and carried him to their fire, where they cauterized Ivan's arm amputation wound, then dressed him. "You're a lucky sack of shit," The imperial mused. "Not only the arm, but toes on the left foot too. And the chest armour's pierced in three points. One should've went through your heart, but I guess it's shallower than it looks like."
By the third day, when Ivan could ride and feed himself, the band had grown to 22 knights.
