Just as Sagax began packing up his things and clipping his scabbard to his belt, he was approached by a young man who asked if Sagax wanted to send along any mail. "Oh, yes actually! Right on time, thanks." he said, handing his letter to the lad. Sagax threw his hood back on, looping the thick wool strings through holes in the hem, and fastened the strap of his pack to keep it from flopping around later. "May Mara's benevolence find its way to you, friend." With that, Sagax set off to join the frontliners, and into his first foray into actual combat. 

Sagax opted to stand to the side of the ram as the stronger of the group pushed the hulking weapon. He shook with anxiety, death-gripping his sword's handle, eyes sweeping back and forth across the dark horizon as soon as the tents of camp were out of sight, heart pounding as he locked on to each shadow. All of that building up of confidence and praying just simply were not comforting him, though that wasn't exactly hard to notice. Anyone glancing at him would think him to be cowering even before anything actually happened, as Sagax prowled low to the ground, sticking to the tallest tufts of grass he could find. In truth? He was both cowering and staying obsessively alert, though one looked to have a higher priority than the other.

Sagax had finally begun to calm himself when the group reached a creek, where Dumhuvud began shouting at some people who went and scouted ahead to get back to the ram. The brute's howling did nothing to help Sagax's nerves, though what happened next nearly sent him over the edge, as arrows, spells, and rocks began hailing down on the group. Their main target was clearly the ram, though others took hits as well. He saw one man at the ram get lit on fire by a spell, and futilely rolled in the water before burning up completely. His screaming rang in Sagax's ears, but his attention was immediately directed to a mercenary that got hit in the stomach with an arrow. That was when an arrow flew past Sagax's head, missing its mark by a terrifyingly small margin. He didn't look to where the missile came from, he just ran. What madness drove him to do so he did not know, but while fleeing the rocks and arrows bolting past him, Sagax slung the hit man's arm over his shoulders and began dragging him through the muck. He could still hear the man breathing, and it was heavily labored. He kept telling Sagax to leave him and run, that he wasn't going to get out of this, but Sagax repeatedly retorted that he was fine, that it was just a flesh wound, and that he would get back to camp just fine. But what Sagax said did not mimic what he thought. He knew that the man's wound couldn't be mended by a simple healing potion, especially in the current situation, but Sagax deeply hoped despite all evidence to the contrary that he'd be able to save his comrade. 

Sagax tried his best to keep up with the ram, but the weight of his comrade with all of his equipment greatly strained Sagax's small frame, and he had to stop quickly several times to catch his breath. Arrows kept flying by him, some being nearer than others, but Sagax pushed forward, eventually getting near enough to the ram to actually make out Dumhuvud's ramblings amidst the shouting of others around him and the swishing of arrows and spells that filled his ears. Sagax did what he could to take his mind off of the smell of blood coming from his wounded comrade, who was getting worryingly more quiet as time went on, keeping his eyes forwards to the other end of the creek, thinking that if he could just get there, he could set the man down and maybe help him. When the group finally arrived at their destination, to Sagax's great relief, everything got much quieter, with the Forsworn retreating back to the redoubt.

Sagax carried his comrade to a small boulder and set him upright against it, clasping his hand on the man's shoulder. "We made it, friend! I told you! You're going to live to fight another day, just like I said you would!" Sagax's triumphant smile slowly faded, as he noticed the man did not respond. No grunt, no words, not even the faintest sign of movement. "H-hey...friend! Did ya hear me? I said we made it! You're gonna...be..." He finally realized that the man's eyes were closed. This, with the lack of movement, or any response at all, forced Sagax to accept the fact that, no, the man was clearly not alright. Not in the least. He had died along the way to the shore. 

It suddenly hit Sagax as to just how...tired he was. The stress of the moment, hauling his comrade through the creek all the way to the other side, it just made him so exhausted. He fell backwards, landing right on his bottom, with his arms resting on his knees, breathing heavily. Sagax himself didn't even really know what he expected. He knew perfectly well that people die on excursions like this. But he never expected for someone to die right on top of him, as he carried them to safety. Seeing someone kick the bucket from a distance, and having them go to the gods right in your arms, Sagax learned, were too very different things. He said only two words: "Well...shit..."