His front legs just seemed to fold up under him, and he knelt right down, rolled onto his side, and died. His carcass sprawled beside the hole. Already it was stiff. Soon it would begin to smell.
Dunk was weeping as he dug, to the amusement of the Dornish knights. ""Water is precious in the waste"", one said, ""you ought not to waste it, ser"". The other chuckled and said, ""Why do you weep? It was only a horse, and a poor one"".
Chestnut, Dunk thought, digging, his name was Chestnut, and he bore me on his back for years, and never bucked or bit.
The old stot had looked a sorry thing beside the sleek sand steeds that the Dornishmen were riding, with their elegant heads, long necks, and flowing manes, but he had given all he had to give.
""Weeping for a swaybacked stot?"" Ser Arlan said, in his old man's voice. ""Why, lad, you never wept for me, who put you on his back"". He gave a little laugh, to show he meant no harm by the reproach. ""That's Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall"".
""He shed no tears for me, either"", said Baelor Breakspear from the grave, ""Though I was his prince, the hope of Westeros.
The gods never meant for me to die so young"".
""My father was only nine-and-thirty"", said Prince Valarr. ""He had it in him to be a great king, the greatest since Aegon the Dragon"". He looked at Dunk with cool blue eyes. ""Why would the gods take him, and leave you ?"" The Young Prince had his father's light brown hair, but a streak of silver-gold ran through it.
You are dead, Dunk wanted to scream, you are all three dead, why won't you leave me be? Ser Arlan had died of a chill, Prince Baelor of the blow his brother dealt him during Dunk's trial of seven, his son Valarr during the Great Spring Sickness.
I am not to blame for that. We were in Dorne, we never even knew.
""You are mad"", the old man told him. ""We will dig no hole for you, when you kill yourself with this folly. In the deep sands a man must hoard his water"".
""Begone with you, Ser Duncan"", Valarr said.
""Begone"".
Egg helped him with the digging. The boy had no spade, only his hands, and the sand flowed back into the grave as fast as they could fling it out. It was like trying to dig a hole in the sea. I have to keep digging, Dunk told himself, though his back and shoulders ached from the effort. I have to bury him down deep where the sand dogs cannot find him. I have to…
""… die?"" said Big Rob the simpleton from the bottom of the grave.
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