Hoshor Plains out of the ground i rise to grace

what a sad, sorry disappointment his life was.
if this was the end, what did he have to show for it? would his family ever even find out? where would they bury his body?
waning in and out, peregrine felt a sharp and shattering ache in his skull. he was cold, and then he was very, very warm — boiling at a slow roil. so uncomfortable that it almost brought him peace at the same time. unaware, blissful in the moments where the pain subsided in careening waves.
he could, and very well should be dead. but he didn't want to die. not here. not yet.