The bridge was six planks wide at its widest and Temur could see it flexing under the first horses that went across, the planks shifting on the rough material below them. The animals' hooves found ground and then lost it again, and the riders drove them forward anyway because stopping on the bridge was the same as dying on it.
Temur pushed into the mass at the near edge. Buras was directly behind him, one-handed on the reins, his right arm hanging and his face locked against the pain of it. Möge came up on his left and Temur could see the horse already moving oddly under him, the flank wound pulling at its stride.
"Move quickly over the ditch," Temur said.
He drove his horse forward.
