He imagined secluded spots where he could fall and be unmolested.

To search for one he strove against the tide of his pain.
Once he put his hand to the top of his head and timidly touched the wound.

The scratching pain of the contact made him draw a long breath through his clinched teeth.

His fingers were dabbled with blood.

He regarded them with a fixed stare.
Around him he could hear the grumble of jolted cannon as the scurrying horses were lashed toward the front.