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The Day is Dark and Full of Questions

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It was raining. But it wasn't fire that was pouring from the heavens. No. It was bloody green fire! The whole Blackwater was aflame, the ships on it like some toy torches. It looked as if the Seven Hells were puking on the miserable men who were down there with him at the Mudgate. He had been fighting. Like the Demon Hound he was supposed to be. But now, his bloodlust was dissipating rapidly.
Around him horses were screaming like men and men like horses – before they crinkled, crumpled and crackled because of the Wildfire that was consuming them with the ferocity of an otherworldly beast. It stank of pyromaniac piss. And of human piss and vomit and shit, of oil and scorched metal and blood and mud and saltwater.... Horse carcasses, severed limbs, broken bodies and scraps of armour were lying around where the fire had not yet feasted on them. There was no end to it.

A shadow was running at the Hound with a drawn sword. A man. He wasn't burning. Just like himself. Not yet.
An enemy. The other man was an enemy. Like the others. Like ALL of them.
Panting, The Hound raised his own sword and parried. And hacked. And snarled. Then, his blade met flesh and cut deep into the body. One enemy less. He had to kill them all. But he couldn't... couldn't... go on any more.
All thoughts were fleeting his head in battle, giving in to his fighting and surviving instincts. Even so, he realised he was at an end. His allegedly infinite forces were leaving him. He had been out thrice, had faced Stannis's thrice-damned men – yet, it wasn't enough. Not enough. They were on the losing side, despite the fucking Wildfire, and the Hound knew it well enough.

Something within him broke apart. He was dying. Whether the battle would see to it at once he did not know, but... he was so drained. So tired. Fuck, what was he fighting for? And for whom?? For that little bloody shitstain of a king? The bugger, who had shown the Little Bird her Father's head and had made her look at it?? Fuck, no. Not any more. He'd leave. Leave and die like the cur he was and meet most of his family in the Seven Hells of the afterlife. And there, he'd wait for his monster of a brother, oh yes, he would.
But before... perhaps he could see the Little Bird one last time. Aye! He wanted to see something sweet before his final breath. He'd take a song from the Little Bird, and then, he'd be ready to die, and fuck the world, if anybody tried to come in his way!!
The Hound turned around.
And he never knew who or what exactly hit him from behind before his world went dark.