A mouthful of sand. He gasped, coughing up dry clumps. It stuck in his throat, and his cheek was numb from the impact. He squirmed again; his head was being held down as another hand vied for his free arm. The pinned man groaned. Utilizing a moment of reduced force, his legs dug into the ground as he attempted to fight back. The motion secured some space, but the hand gripping his scalp thrust him back towards the earth, lowering his face back to the ground. A shaky breath managed another inhale.

 With the bruising in his abdomen not stinging any less, he struggled to pry himself off the Guardian. He only needed a little space. The slender man attempted another roll. There was no luck. He was pinned. The vessel above him shifted and attacked. Along with another sharp pain, he felt his hand had been loosened. He grasped quickly, and his hand stumbled upon the jagged blade that he dropped just a moment before. 

 "You scum!" it said as it struck the man again. He winced in response but continued. 

 Finding the hilt, he halted. The glittery eyes of the man closed, just in between two strikes, while imaging the rough pacing of his opponents grip. There was less pressure now, enough for action. The blade was jammed into the vessel's leg.

 The Guardian reeled as it clutched its thigh, and the man crawled beneath. Applying all his fatigued might, he shoved the armored vessel into the rapidly-paced mechanisms behind it. In a moment, the crunching noise ceased the wails from within the moving system.

 Hamin stood to see the iron barrier, far towards the other end of the gatehouse, steadily closing. The crank was undoing behind him as well. He was dizzy, but he could recall what happened moments before. Aside from the fresh pain coming from the cuts on his hand, he knew the Jarl of Gnadland was now outside the castle's rusted gate, and the soldiers sent to retrieve him were there too. However, he was not. Clutching his aching gut, Hamin started towards the crank.

 He paused on it, the relief of the skirmish now prickling through him, and he supported himself against the crank. The Jarl was free. He had actually been freed. They were to set sail at dawn, and the people would rejoice at the return of their valiant, though wounded, Jarl. They did it; he was a free man. 

 Hamin considered the feasts of celebration as he spat out another small glob of sand. It would taste of mugwort and blackened chicken. Of crisp spring berries and sweet onions and thyme and the bitter wine that he had a hard time keeping down. It would taste like—he retched.

 Choking up another taste of desert sand, he swore a thickly uttered word and hunched over. It would be a long time till then. And that depended on his tense escape. Alone.