Only when he was halfway towards breaking towards the treeline did he hit upon the winning thought – but he'd have to pause his run momentarily to put the idea into effect, making it somewhat of a gamble. He fought the decision over and over in his head, before finally growing sick of the stone enough that he came to a stop.
He pulled his long-sleeved shirt off his body – he hadn't decided to wear a coat over the top of it, despite the cold, for he knew he'd quickly overheat when running – and he wrapped the stone up in the cloth.
Once it was wrapped up and secure, he took the long sleeves and ran them around his shoulders and under his armpits, tying them off on each arm, to make a somewhat more comfortable backpack.
"That'll do," he decided, tighting it enough so that the stone would not bounce around too much on his back, given freedom by the flexibility of the cloth. But despite his efforts, any movement too explosive would send it bouncing anyway, making it bash uncomfortably into his back.
Then there was were the straps too – they weren't particularly comfortable either, so even as he ran, he was cursing himself for not having a better idea, but at the very least, it beat carrying it in his arms, and after a while he soon learned how to move so that the rock would stay steady on his back and he broke out of the treeline.
A hunter flashed him a surprised look as Beam ran past, half naked but for his shirt-backpack that he'd made. Beam greeted the man with a nod, before rushing past him. He didn't know what the man thought upon seeing such a sight – but he could feel the eyes on his back as he broke away from the trees and headed west across the plains.
Sweat was already beginning to coat his forehead and his breathing came laboured from his urgency. He glanced up at the sky continually as he ran. The sun was going higher and higher, taunting him, telling him to speed up, and speed up he did, despite the discomfort.
With the rock across his back as it was, the muscles supporting the weight quickly tired, as did his legs, but it was not an unendurable tiredness. It was merely the acknowledgement of discomfort, and the body's insistence that he settle down to rest as soon as he was able.
But with a file, a whetstone and a good amount of effort, it was back to its former simple but deadly glory.
He took a few more moments then, to recover his breath, continuing to watch the corpse soldier from a distance. It was a large man – or at least, once it was. Now it was a lumbering skeleton, with a blackened skull and blue fire in its eyes, its dead skin peeling from its face. Its torn fur clothes struggled to hide the rotting flesh beneath.
"A Yarmdon man," Dominus told him, as he noticed Beam's curious gaze. "Likely one of those who fell from the spring raiding attacks."
"Hmm... I would have thought they'd be more of them. The spring raids are always a bloody affair, aren't they?" Beam said.
"Well, there likely are, since they are mindless creatures, they tend to wander a great distance, looking for warm flesh. But their senses aren't particularly good. As long as you stay a few hundred feet away from them, they won't notice you. Also, the people, knowing how corpse soldiers are birthed, are liable to go to lengths to avoid their creation.
Only those buried on unblessed ground have a chance of being afflicted with the goddess' curse – but even then, it's a dice roll," Dominus said.
"Sounds troublesome," Beam mused. "If someone really strong happened to become a corpse soldier, we'd be in trouble, wouldn't we?"
Dominus shook his head. "No. The curse, in its normal form, is not particularly powerful. The truly strong would be unaffected by it. Still, the fact remains, that even if the weak get reanimated, they're much stronger than they were in life."