It occurs to me you guys might be getting bored? I hope not! I'm not trying to be slow, honest, this is just the way the story is going. I'm flinching back from writing grief, because I'm more attached to some characters than others, so like, I get secondhand embarrassment or a case of the feels.

Anyway, I did a LOT of research into the Comanche history and belief system and all that, and it's like the foundation that built this chapter. Not so many facts, but to help me characterize and write Red Harvest, I had to really study. So, there are no Comanche phrases or anything, because I am not touching an non-Latin-based language with a ten foot pole. I'm restricted to English, Spanish, and French y'all, so bear with me.

The hardest part of writing this chapter was finding the balancing act between Red Harvest being distinctly other and him knowing he is an outsider, and him being a human being who has compassion on these people and wants to help. So like, let me know what you think of how I'm writing him, because he's such a cool character and should be well represented.

Also I researched both mules and horses, for this, and...like is this chapter pointless y'all? I like it, I think it's important, but I don't know how or why it's important. Ah the joys of writing.

Finally, you'll find out some of the names of the dead. We aren't going to see Tessa's reaction until chapter 13. God help me.


"Battle is gruesome, but it is vigorous, alive.

The aftermath is the worst of it;

adrenaline fades, quiet sweeps in,

and there's nothing to distract you from the mess of bodies and churned earth."

-Darrell Drake, A Star-Reckoner's Lot

The street was a nightmare. Even after the initial confusion and hurry of gathering the wounded, there was still much to do. Blood soaked the dirt, the copper scent mingling with the piss and other leavings from dead men. Flies had already started to swarm the dead. A horse occasionally picked it's way through the carnage, or tried to, the whites of their eyes showing in the high flung heads. Most of the horses were collected by Red Harvest, who knew horses better than he knew people. There was one who refused to come to him though, and did not let him near.

The mule, that ragged and scarred beast. Red Harvest had seen all manner of horses, every shape and size, and he was familiar with the donkeys white farmers favored for smaller projects. He had been given to understand that mules were the best of both horse and donkey. This mule was clearly the worst of both. He had heard Tessa call him Scratch. He had seen how she cared for him, the easy trust between the two, and his aggression towards anything that wasn't her. The large animal lowered his head and flicked large ears forward, clearly inspecting him.

His instincts were rarely wrong, and they were telling him to be very still.

Scratch didn't seem concerned with the dead, or the flies, or even the buzzards that had started circling, no matter how fast the surviving townspeople worked to gather the bodies. He stepped with care around them, over them even, but the whites around his eyes were gradually shrinking, It was a dangerous animal that could adjust to bloodshed like that. Red Harvest felt he could respect that.

Still, he had to get the animal out of the street. He was too violent, and he would get in the way, since he refused to flee like the horses had done. Tessa couldn't remove him. Two men had carried her between them into the doctor's house some time ago. She had been an unsettling shade of white -even for a white person- and the bandage on her thigh was soaked with blood. There were so many wounded, many worse than her to be seen by the one doctor, he wasn't certain she'd live long enough to get good medicine.

His mind strayed to his ration bag, tucked safely away in his buffalo hide. He'd packed it while he was out scouting with all the good herbs he could find, things like snakebite medicine, buffalo plant, yarrow, and more. He could use them. He could help.

If he could just get Scratch to yield.

Red Harvest took a step forward.

Scratch took a step back.

The knowledge that people were dying while he danced with this foolish animal itched between his shoulder blades and Red Harvest fought to keep his body relaxed. If mules were anything like horses, they would pick up on his stance, on how he walked, and react. Scratch's nostrils flared inquiringly, and an idea struck the Comanche. He sighed through his nose. How could he not have thought of that before?

Stepping quickly and quietly through the ruined street he ducked into the livery and picked up a few withered apples, a rope and halter, and a lump of salt. No one was there to tell him he didn't belong or that he had no right, and he returned to where he had left Scratch, breathing a silent prayer of thanks to the creator that the stubborn animal had not wandered off. Scratch's ears flicked back, and then forward again, and Red Harvest took a large bite of the apple.

!

The woman tossed him an apple underhanded and smiled at him. Red Harvest looked down at it in surprise, and with no small amount of suspicion. But it was just a normal apple, firm and sweet smelling and a nice rich red, if a little on the small side. Had she really noticed he hadn't been eating?

!

Scratch's head picked up at the audible crunch of food and he took a step forward, curiosity in every line of is body. Red Harvest held out the apple and looked away. He could feel him hesitate. The animal was proving to be smarter than most horses, and much more suspicious. If he'd had more time…

The Comanche felt more than saw Scratch move, stepping carefully forward and nudging at the fruit. His neck was fully extended, the mule kept his body away. The apple was taken, teeth scraping across the ball of his thumb, but Red Harvest refused to flinch. Very slowly he transferred the other apple to the same hand. Scratch stepped closer. The second apple followed the first and in one smooth move he slipped the halter over the mule's large head. It was pure luck that it fit, and Scratch stiffened, eyes flashing white and lips rippling. Quick as a cat Red Harvest slipped a little salt into his lower lip and over the bottom row of teeth.

Scratch stopped, lips and tongue working furiously. He was distracted enough that Red Harvest was able to lead him to the corral. He would be alone with other animals, but at least the townspeople could get on with their duties. As he shut the gate the mule thrust his large head over the top beam, as if asking how he had come to be here. Knowing he needed to be respectful of the beasts teeth Red Harvest slid the halter back down off his head, stroking quick and light, just once, down his rough forehead as he did so. Scratch's large ears flicked back, forward, back again, and finally relaxed. He nodded to himself, considering.

Red Harvest hung the halter back where he'd found it and detoured to retrieve his ration bag. He would go find Sam. If anyone could convince the white people that one of the Numunu could help, it was him. If his path was going anywhere, he had a feeling it was going to be alongside Sam Chisolm's


The doctor was too busy trying to keep his companions alive to bother with Red Harvest. The front room of his office -so Sam had called it- was overflowing with the wounded, in different states of pain and alertness. Some men groaned like they were dying. Some men truly were dying. Women of the town moved among them, giving water and bandaging what they could, but until the doctor came there was nothing they could do. He looked at his ration bag and privately wondered if such a small thing could make a difference.

He didn't notice the elder at first, but the boards behind him creaked and Red Harvest quickly turned to meet startlingly light blue eyes. He would never get used to the paleness of such eyes. The person they belonged to was one of the town elders, stoop-backed with age but his hands were still steady.

"Are you wounded young man?"

He plainly wasn't. But Red Harvest lifted the flap on his ration bag to show him the herbs he had collected only yesterday. The elder's blue eyes lit up in delight.

"Ah! Yarrow, I see, and greenbriar, and buffalo weed! This will help. My stores have been depleted already. Will you help me mix these? I have other herbs in store of course, but fresh is best-" Somehow Red Harvest found himself following the elder out into the street again, and unthinkingly offered his arm so he could make it safely down the steps. The other barely paused for breath to thank him, clutching his forearm and setting off more quickly than Red Harvest would have thought possible. "-we'll need teas to strengthen the blood and poultices to draw the infection from the wounds. Not to mention we'll need to make-Ah, what is your name young man?"

"...Red Harvest."

"Ben Truebill, town apothecary." Sharp blue eyes twinkled up at him briefly, but the light suddenly died. "This is my shop," he waved a hand at the building they stopped at. "I underestimated just how many wounded there were going to be. I have to get more medicine. Do you know any of your peoples remedies that might help? We need all the help we can get and quickly."

The shop smelled comforting, after the massacre out in the streets, like herbs and green things growing. Red Harvest quickly took in the rows of boxes lining the wall and the shelves full of bottles as they passed through the front room and into the back. There he understood. This was where the elder mixed his medicines. Bowls, and pestles and mortars for grinding littered every flat surface. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling and plants, herbs for good medicine were carefully tended and sitting in pools of sunlight. The carnage outside had not touched this place.

"Some." he finally said.

Ben Truebill nodded. "Then get to work. We'll need things to staunch the blood and tea's to replenish the blood that was lost and much more besides. You can use anything in here you want, but if you need something I don't have, I'm afraid you'll have to go find it yourself. I'm not as young as I used to be and my apprentice is-" The elder coughed, voice growing rough. Tears glittered in his eyes and he made no effort to hide them as he smiled weakly at Red Harvest. "-I mean he was the one to go and gather new herbs for me."

"I understand."

The others shoulders straightened and lifted his chin proudly. "Good, good. I'm going back to Dr. Hinz's office with some more medicine. Hopefully we won't lose any more today." With that the elder limped back out into the front room, and Red Harvest could hear him rustling about, muttering to himself about what was where and what it did. He looked down at his ration bag and carefully tipped it's contents onto the largest table so he could begin.


The rest of the day was spent in and out of the apothecary and Dr. Hinz's office, forcing medicine down gasping throats, changing bandages and applying poultices to encourage broken flesh to mend. Of the few of his companions that had survived, Goodnight was the worst off, having fallen off the roof after getting shot. Until he woke up -if he woke up- the doctor couldn't tell if his back was broken or not. Rocks was a close second, he'd taken fire too, but not as much as he could have if not for Joe Newell. They'd found the young sharpshooter dead, and Rock's breathing. He'd died shooting, and had taken most of the bullets in the doing. Both Goodnight and Rocks were alive because of him.

Faraday wasn't as bad as the other two. He'd taken several shots, but Nick Newell had shielded him from most of the explosion. Vasquez had found Faraday senseless, but alive, under what was left of Nick. Red Harvest had seen Tessa earlier and was the one to tend her leg and shoulder. Of all of them, she would be back on her feet first, but the blood loss kept her down and sliding in and out of the waking world. She still didn't know her brothers had died. He'd left the widow Cullen with a tea from Ben, and instructions to give it to her every time she woke.

There had been no chance of saving Horne though. Red Harvest had collected the old trackers body himself.

It was long after dark when Sam pulled him aside. He pointed to the doctor, slumped at his desk, and Ben Truebill, fast asleep on a spare pallet (some could not be saved) and told Red Harvest it was time to eat and rest. The women could take it from here, and someone would be woken up if any of the patients got any worse. He cast a glance at the sleeping forms, lit by a few candles here and there and nodded slowly. He was hungry.

Sam led him to the battered remains Elysium where most of his companions had been staying. Someone had been hard at work while he had been healing, sweeping up the broken glass and setting tables and chairs back up right. There was no covering up all the damage with a single days work, but a tired woman smiled at him and gave him a plate of food. Red Harvest was tired enough that he ate it all. Vasquez nodded at him, weariness in every line of his body, even as he numbly shoved food into his mouth.

Red Harvest ate two plates of food. He hadn't realized until that moment just how hungry he was. Sam didn't eat. He sat at the table and stared down at the glass in his hand but didn't drink it. They sat that way for a long time. He was used to silence of course, he'd been in his own company for a long time. But the silence at the table was heavy and thick. Just when he thought he'd have to leave -he was tired too- the widow Cullen walked in.

She sat without asking and nodded at each of them. Sam looked at her closely and slid his glass over to her. Her eyes flickered around the table, but she shook her head and drank it in one gulp, shuddering as she did. The 'clack' it made when she brought the glass back down was loud in the silence.

"How is she?"

They all looked at Vasquez, who had his own glass and a bottle at his elbow. He stared back, expressionless.

"...Doc thinks she'll make it." the widow replied after a time. "Some blood loss, but that tea you gave her seemed to help." To his surprise, she spoke to Red Harvest, who didn't let it show on his face as he nodded slightly.

"She said anything?"

She opened her mouth, shut it, looked down at her hands. Her voice was thick when she managed to speak, "She keeps asking for her brothers."

"You didn't tell her they're dead?" said Sam sharply.

Emma Cullen shook her head helplessly. "I didn't know how to tell her." she whispered. "She'll find out soon enough. Let her-"

"Her thinking those boys are alive for one second longer than she has to isn't gonna help her in the long run. They will be buried tomorrow." Sam cut her off, voice hard. He climbed heavily to his feet. "I'll...I'm going to tell her."

The woman surged to her feet, furious and blocked his path. "What good will that do? So she can spend the night wide awake and knowing the people she loves are-"

"And tomorrow is better? When she has all day and the rest of her life to know? What's one more day? You aren't doing her any favors in the long run Mrs. Cullen. Believe me, I know." For the first time since Red Harvest had met him, Sam Chisolm actually looked angry. Mrs. Cullen swallowed sharply and looked away.

No one tried to stop Sam after that. He put his hat on and left quickly. Emma seemed to fold in on herself, sinking into her chair like her legs wouldn't hold her anymore. Wisps of red hair fell into her face but she didn't bother push them out of her eyes. Vasquez sighed and poured her another drink.

"He's right."

"I don't think-"

"They are already gone." Red Harvest was surprised to hear himself speak, but he went on. "They died like warriors, and she should know. Their stories should be told."

Vasquez nodded slowly through his surprise. "He is also right."

Emma looked him square in the face, grief heavy in her eyes, and it dawned on him that she knew about grieving too, and her own was fresher than Sam's. Maybe she had wanted a time of not knowing. It seemed like years ago, but he had seen her kneeling on her husband's grave just that morning. Still she had fought. Her husband had fought. He nodded slightly, respectfully, at her.

"I'm going to bed gentleman." She drank her second glass of whiskey and set the glass down much more gently than she had before. As she stood she nodded respectfully to them both, but said to him: "Thank you for saving my life Red Harvest."

Vasquez shook his head and drank straight out of the bottle. "Strange woman."

Red Harvest cocked his head slightly and corrected the other. "A strong woman."