Ride On
an excerpt

It was late spring, when the man, tired and weary of the world, passed the boy in the woods. The boy was easy to miss, his dull dun colored clothes blending in well with the wet earth and high grass. Even after sharp eyes made out the small, prone figure, the man still didn't intend to stop. Whomever this boy was, he was not his responsibility. Villagers wandered into these woods frequently, underestimating the sheer size and disorientation these woods could cause, got lost and died. The wolves would be out soon, and if the individual wasn't already dead, he soon would be.
The figure shifted slightly and moaned, a pained, weak sound. The man cursed and reluctantly approached the figure on the ground. The boy was still fairly young, a teenager on the cusp of adulthood. He had been beaten, it looked like, there were several cuts and blossoming bruises on his face, including a rather deep gash on his forehead.
The man crouched down next to the boy, eying him cautiously. He wasn't from this area, he was too light skinned and was dressed for a far warmer climate. A foreigner, a traveler perhaps, that had been a victim of the thieves that found their home among the trees. How unfortunate.
He was ready to rise and continue on his way when the figure stirred again, and the one eye that wasn't swollen shut opened. A deep brown iris circled a pupil that wondered aimlessly before sharpening and focusing. A weak hand grasped frantically, finding purchase on the rough material of the man's pants.
"Help." The boy rasped, his voice weak and on the verge of breaking. "Please...help."
The man looked at the boy, whose grip loosened and eyes closed as consciousness began to slip away.
“Please.”
It wasn't the desperate plea in the boys voice. It wasn't the fact that he was lying there, bleeding, bruised and helpless. It wasn't the man's own sense of right and wrong, which had been unused for too many years. It was something in the shape of his face, the color of his eyes. Something in that boy that reminded him of Her.
The boy was light, and the man was able to lift him easily. Upon closer inspection, he saw that he was rather thin, his face angular and hollow. Possibly malnourished. Cursing his luck, he continued on his way, his new burden unconscious in his arms.