[ WP ] Write the third episode of non-existant series . Make us curious about what happened before episode 3 , and what happens after .

William ’ s third day in the desert had begun, and the moans of the undead had only grown louder. His mount continued to hobble over the endless dunes, breathing heavily with every step. The poor animal had marched across the desert without rest for days. Most horses would have collapsed by now, but the animal feared the undead as much as its rider. 
 
 When they reached the tallest dunes, William could look back and see them limping after him. Three days had passed, yet their pursuit continued. The piles of sand slowed them. They could not walk down the slopes without falling, and the steepest climbs slowed them to a crawl. But they continued all the same. 
 
 The Crusader had abandoned his armor after the first few hours in the desert. He had screamed and cursed when he dropped the scalding hot metal in the sand. If the undead had closed the distance, the armor would have been invaluable in combat. They could not chew through steel. William had not possessed the energy to curse when he ran out of food on the first day. He had tried to ration his supplies, but there was so little to begin with. His canteen had barely a sip remaining. He would save those last drops for the end. 
 
 By noon on the third day, his mount collapsed. He barely even felt himself hit the sand. He had slept in the saddle these last few days, and the rocking of the horse put him in a state of delirium. He rose to his feet and watched the dark figures stumbling over the sea of sand behind him. They were close. 
 
 The animal had served him well. He wished he could reward it by ending its misery. But the undead were attracted to live flesh. The Crusader stroked his horse ’ s neck, apologized, and continued the march. Two dunes had passed before he heard the animal cry out in agony. 
 
 The thought occurred to him that he should have brought a female horse. He may have been able to drink milk from a mare. He had heard of men in the east who mixed mare ’ s milk with horse blood to give them energy. Taking a male horse had been a mistake. He had made many mistakes in the week since the fall of Jerusalem. 
 
 By afternoon, he looked to the horizon and saw a wall of gray and yellow against the sky. He blinked the fatigue from his eyes and realized that a sand storm approached. If he were not so dehydrated, he might have cried. Behind him, the undead had only gotten closer. William ’ s aching legs had not carried him far. Somehow, he moved even slower than the horde behind him. 
 
 He reached for his canteen. There was no more need to save the last sip. When the drops hit his dry, cracked tongue, he let the canteen fall into the sand. With a weak grunt, he tore the sleeve from his tunic and wrapped it around his mouth to keep the sand out of his lungs. Dressed more feebly than any knight in history, William drew his sword and limped towards the damned. 
 
 The closest to him wore the same surcoat that William had once worn. It was red and gold; the colors of Richard the Lionheart. By the time the undead had closed the distance, the sand had begun to sting William ’ s face. 
 
 The surviving Crusader held his ground as his countryman staggered forward. The sun had almost peeled the skin from the walking corpse ’ s bones. One of his eyes was missing, and the other locked on William in a milky, empty stare. 
 
 William swung his sword through the man ’ s neck, decapitating him. He attempted to yell, `` St George'' as he attacked, but the cry caught in his cracked, sand-filled throat. 
 
 He swung again and again, striking down the bodies that shuffled toward him. Before long, the sound of the sandstorm had drowned out the moans of the undead. The dust blinded him. He staggered through the sand, swinging in wide arcs and striking little. He felt hands on him and he lamented the loss of his armor. 
 
 A moment later, the hands that held him flew away from him. Around him, he heard the pounding of hooves on sand and the twang of bowstrings. William ’ s adrenaline subsided, and he felt the ground rise to meet him. 
 
 By the time he regained consciousness, the storm had passed. He felt a horse beneath him. For a moment, he wondered if it had been a dream. Then, he realized that his hands were tied. Around him were the horse archers who had rescued him. His heart sank when he saw their tanned skin and strange armor. They might have been Bedouins, Saracens, Turks, but it did not matter. They were enemies, and he was their prisoner. 
 
 So William ’ s march through the desert continued. All that he had gained was a new horse, and a set of teethmarks on his forearm which he would keep secret.
