Broken and beaten, Seth's bloodied body bobbed through the air like a drunken bee. His legs, one of them twisted at an odd angle, dangled uselessly as he was dragged through the air by the arrows embedded in his shoulders.
The entire weight of his body constantly pressing against his collarbones, sending constant ebbs and pulsations of pain into his mind, which only flared up whenever he had to adjust his flight path or even raise himself up ever so slightly.
It was not the most elegant flight, nor had it been how he had hoped to finally fulfil the dream of being able to soar through the skies under his own power, but it was flight none the less. It allowed him to be mobile, instead of staggering through the battlefield on a gimped leg, or instead of cowering behind his compatriots while they put their lives on the line.
