You struggle to stay awake by any means necessary. Night is coming. You know this is a horrible idea, but you're at the end of your rope, and even desperation's preferable to inaction. You stab your thigh with your dagger, praying the pain will force you to stay lucid. You haven't seen so much of your own blood in hours. You haven't felt this terrified since you were born. You have never felt the end so close to you.

When we are close to death, we become beasts of resignation. Overexertion leads to a painful, drawn out struggle. Self-sacrifice leads to a painful, drawn out passing. Acceptance leads to a painless, quick victory. We both know this is the final farewell. If you had something to protect, something to die for, then perhaps you wouldn't have so much trouble giving up. You struggle, despite the fact you could just hand yourself over to me. You're you. I'm me. We coexist for we would die without eachother. Even though you desperately yearn for independence.