I wish I were still a colt; I'd be glad to be with my peers right now, grazing on dry hay. I wish I were a man; I'd do whatever it takes to be a farmer behind the wall in times like this. But no, I was the leading stallion in the front-line battle. A heavy Calvary batch, specifically the captain's ride; heavy guarded but the shield never stopped a spear from piercing through my ribs.

I'm the last one standing since the battle was a reign-of-terror clash, no living thing survived but me. Indeed, I tasted the terror of war today.
Galloping back to my kingdom in Ocometh, I hope I find a fix to this red fluid gushing out of my injury spot, forming a trail for my path. A color I have adjusted my pupils to since I have seen a lot of it at the battle spot. I am sure the soil of the warfare is drunk already from the amount of red wine it soaked in today.
Striding through the terrain we trotted upon hours ago but in opposite direction, galloping through the strand that our hooves sank in hours ago; leaving deep indentations as I maintain my top-speed.
Ye heroes of Ocometh, you fail your kingdom; you fought all your armies out, still not winning. O gods of Ocometh, you failed your people; you reversed your protection when they needed you the most, I hope you'd be satisfied when the vultures prey on their carcass. Healers of Ocometh, get ready because I'm galloping through miles just to survive. Ocometh, I cometh.
I really am shedding tears but no one to see it, I'm sweating but no one to feel my wet skin. Gritting my rigid cheek as I run; my rein is slack, no one to pull me to an halt. I'm doing this on sheer hope that I'd survive when I get behind the wall, please pray I don't bleed to death.
I can see the donjon of the kingdom I'm headed to, but my views were blurry already, I can feel the last push of blood coming out from my side; the last pint I can give the thirsty soil. Nevermind about the prayers because I just trip on a rock, currently tumbling on the arid surface; my brown skin drags and peels, pushing this broken spear a bit deeper.
I flinch my lid a couple of times, I can hear the tower guard blow his horn as an alert to come get me but then I gave it up. I am no longer the last one standing but the last to arrive. I promise to shut the door and hope no stallion face the wrath of war anymore.