The road wasn't safe.
For anyone, let alone Roland. And bounding heavily through mud on his already tired horse only made everything worse. everything soaked from a recent shower. Roland had little time to ponder weather further when an arrow came sailing past his head. He yelped, ducking it as he turned the horse sharply into a forested path.
Less stone here, more mud. And the men that were hounding him had seen where he tried to lose them. Highwaymen, folk driven mad to desperation for coin, loot, or just about anything they could get their hands on. When they saw, Roland, they tried to stop him, but he was faster than they were, knowing a trap when he saw one.
But their horses were fresher, faster, and were quickly overtaking his mount. Roland didn't dare look back, lest he see only the blade of one of the men, coming down on his head. Fuck! Fuck!
Arrows came sailing fast when the path straightened, and their shots buried themselves into the rear of his horse. The animal screamed and lost its footing. The mud caking around hooves caused it to slide down the embankment to the left of the path, snapping its neck when it struck a tree, and Roland fell with it, thrown from his horse and rolling hard and heavy down the hillside.
He narrowly missed a boulder, and as the hill grew steeper yet, Roland was jostled and fell down toward something hot, a roasting pile of coal that had been beside the encampment.
Upon striking the fire, Roland screamed, feeling the heat engulf his clothing, and singeing him. He rolled off and back into the mud, dizzy, head throbbing and in agony, burying his singed hands into the cold soil. He only looked up briefly to see the two figures beside the campfire, heart racing, fear lacing through him.