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Drifter had felt the attack coming on even as he fended off the beasts that had ambushed him from the bushes, staving it off through sheer force of will because he could not afford to be made helpless just yet. Perhaps the pain in his chest was what had made him stumble, what had created an opening for one of the creatures to launch into him and sink its teeth into his sword arm.
It was fortunate that his gun had a few charges left; he’d finished off the remaining beasts and stumbled away, shaking with the effort of holding himself together these last few meters. His vision was starting to flicker, and he thought he could see dripping blackness out of the corners of his eyes-- No.
Gasping and choking, Drifter dragged himself to shelter, clutching his left arm to his side. Only when he was up against the cliff face, hidden by the thick foliage, did he let himself collapse. Immediately he was doubled up, knees pressed against his chest as he bent to the ground, coughing so violently that his entire body shuddered and sent stabs of pain up his shredded arm. He barely noticed. His chest was on fire; he could barely breathe, nearly choking on the blood being expelled from his withered lungs. The flickers were worse, sending red sparks dancing across his vision when he tried squeezing his eyes closed to shut them out.
And then it was over, as suddenly as it had begun. Drifter had no way of knowing how long he’d been incapacitated. Long enough to have gotten him killed, if he hadn’t managed to find shelter in time. He took a long shuddering breath, deep as he could manage without setting off another string of coughs. There was still a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. Drifter wiped it off before pulling the collar of his cloak back up over his face, and then rolled over to lie panting on his side, exhausted.
It was getting worse.
He knew it was, and yet there was nothing to be done but press forward. The longer he went on like this, the more likely it became that he’d be killed when his body broke down on him in the middle of a fight, or that pushing himself so hard every day was only speeding up the course of his illness. This was a wild goose chase, more likely than not - a fool’s errand, with nothing but his dreams and snatches of half-remembered tales to guide him by.
...But he was dying anyway. And Drifter had always wanted, no, needed to keep moving. Better a swift, violent end out here than to buy a few more months of wasting away, slowly, like he was in a degraded stasis chamber.
He was distracted from these morbid thoughts by the gentle ping-ping-ping of his droid, hovering low in front of his face and flashing a green light rather insistently at him. Drifter grinned, tiredly, and forced himself back up into a sitting position with his good arm. He wasn’t certain how much intelligence or self-awareness the little companion AI actually possessed, but it did seem particularly insistent when it reminded him to use a med-pack. Sometimes he needed the prodding. At this point his pain tolerance was impressive - it had to be - and it was all too easy to ignore something that turned out to be a major injury.
Fortunately, he had two packs left. Drifter pulled one from his belt and stuck it into his upper arm, bracing himself with clenched teeth as he did so. There was always the flare of pain as the cocktail of chemicals and stimulants began coaxing his flesh to knit back together; fortunately it only lasted a few seconds before the analgesics took effect. The lancing pains faded to a dull ache. Drifter let out a nearly inaudible sigh, leaning back against the cliff face. It would not be wise to move out again for a while, not after the damage that had been done to the muscles of his sword arm. He’d give the med-pack time to work and maybe, if he was very lucky, he could get some rest in the meantime.
Glancing at the droid, Drifter held open his cloak a few inches. It needed no further prompting, zipping in under the red fabric and nestling in the crook of Drifter’s arm. There was something comforting about its warm, familiar weight against his body, and he found himself relaxing. With another shaky but deep breath, Drifter leaned his helmeted head back against the rocky cliff and closed his eyes.