It was a combination of sheer endurance, and the wound looking worse than it was -- shallower wounds had a tendency to bleed a great deal, even if they weren't necessarily fatal in the short-term. Connor still knew he wouldn't be able to go much further before his body gave out, however, so merely gave Haytham a curt nod, then dug his heels in and urged his horse on.

It was only once they were clear of the town gates and a ways into covered woodland that Connor slid -- half-toppled, really -- from his horse, which whickered and shied uneasily, scenting blood. But Connor held the reins to keep the mare in place, bracing himself against the horse's neck as he clumsily tried to unfasten his red sash to use as makeshift bandages.

No, he still wasn't going to ask for help. Yes, he was being childishly stubborn, but pride wouldn't permit him to be anything less.