Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew –

William Shakespeare
"Hamlet"

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o'er wrought heart and bids it break.

William Shakespeare
"Macbeth"

The torches threw dancing light over the trunks of the pines, so that the forest moved and refracted in his bleary vision. He was glad for Audra's warm arm holding him steady as she rode behind him, as otherwise the combined sway of the horse and the dance of the trees would have sent him sliding to the ground in short order. The breathing, bubbling sound of the river was falling behind them as Sombra carried them gracefully forward over a carpet of pine needles.

Feeling slowly returned to his body; first, as an awareness of the slide of the rough wool blankets over his bare chest, then pressing outward into his burning skin, and beginning to invade his arms and legs with an aching, bone deep pain. His thoughts were rambling, blurry and sad. He loved his sister, and he feared for her. He could feel the heat from her body against his back. She was so brave and good, and he was so frozen, and he wondered if maybe he was so cold he would pull all the warmth out of her and then she might freeze. He raised his head with the idea of telling her this, but the movement made him suddenly dizzy. He groped for a handhold to balance himself with numb, clumsy fingers. Audra just held him tighter and quietly spoke warm, good words into his ear. He heard her laugh softly, just for him.

"Heath, look who's giving us a ride. Isn't she amazing? She found you, Heath. She found you and tried to keep you warm until we came. I knew she had gone looking for you, and look, she helped us bring you back. And doesn't everything always look better from the back of a horse?"

Even blurry and confused, Heath had to laugh at that, because he'd had exactly the same thought during many bad moments in his life, and he absolutely agreed with her. He tipped his head back against her shoulder so he could see her face. She looked at him and they shared a sad smile.

"Thanks for coming to get me, sis." He couldn't remember exactly all of what he'd said or did, or even how he'd ended up there on that river bank, but he knew what he had been feeling and remembering. And what with him half-conscious, frozen, and his mind already ripped full of holes and flapping in the breeze, well, it only followed that what he had been feeling had spilled out all over, and Audra'd had to wade in deep to get to him.

She leaned her forehead against his. "Heath," she whispered, "I'm so sorry about your Mama and your Aunt Rachael. I wish I had known them. I wish I had seen how much you were grieving for them. I know they loved you so much. I can feel it. It's what you're made of."

He pulled back slightly so he could look into her eyes. She was not crying. She spoke gravely and with absolute conviction; if he wasn't so groggy he might even think she was looking a little argumentative. He couldn't speak. Her words wrapped around him like her strong arms, keeping him steady and reminding him warmth still exists, even if he could only just barely feel it on his skin. Guilt and failure moved in him; ice floes breaking and rejoining, piling upon each other, filling his chest, his throat.

He felt tears on his face and he bowed his head. Audra hugged him tight and kissed him on the cheek, and he couldn't help but glance up at her and smile. "Audra," he murmured. "Ain't the first time you've brought me back from the dead."

As soon as it was clear to Smith that Audra and Jarrod were safely on their way back across the river with their brother, he caught Frank's eye and gestured with his head back toward the trail. "Let's us get a move on back there. We got a fire to build to warm up that kid, and a big mess to clean up in the middle of the road."

"Not to mention a horse to bury, three bodies to collect, and two swamp rats to bring back to the valley."

"Now that you mention it, I think maybe Jinks will be digging that hole for the horse, good idea."

Marshal Smith was an observant man. He had watched closely as Audra initially tried to tend to Heath where he lay by the black horse. He couldn't hear much of what had been said, but it was clear to him that Heath was turning away from her, resisting her help; that though he was obviously in great emotional and physical distress he did not at first want her to bring him away to safety. John wondered why. It seemed an important thing to know. He found himself thinking back to the conversations he and Heath had had over the last several days, and the questions that had come to him during the ride home after their run-in with Jasper.

John didn't know – and couldn't really imagine - what experiences of Hell Heath carried with him. These catastrophic shards of memory had become un-anchored, reactive, destructive. John did not know how anyone would go about taking hold of such lacerating fragments, handling them and fitting them together into a mosaic of coherent meaning, but it seemed to him without that, the shrapnel would continue to do its damage, and his friend would die.

Even now, Death continued to bargain, pressing Heath with strong arguments. John could sense this. He worried that Heath would decide that the family and Rivka would be better off without him, insulated from the violence of his history and unburdened of his difficulties. Set against this, on the other side of the scale, was the love and care and commitment that bound him to Rivka and to his family. There was also the joy Heath had found in his work and his life with this family, but he was weary and beaten down from the constant intrusion of fear and memory and sadness, and such joy was often buffeted far from his reach. He was in desperate need of some respite, and John well knew Death always kept that offer in his back pocket, in case he needed to sweeten the pot.

Still, Heath was stubborn. He was a survivor. And there was that pride.

John found himself arriving at the same nagging thought.

Death seems too confident. Death should not be finding an easy win at this table.

The image came to him again: Heath turning away from Audra's hand. She had reached him, finally, but clearly, in that moment, Heath wanted to die – or thought he should die? Where was that stubborn pride? Death should have folded his hand for this round and shuffled embarrassed out the door by now, yet John sensed him leaning in, sensing vulnerability, still very much in the game.

He was relieved beyond measure that they had found Heath, apparently in one piece. Checking himself, John was fairly sure he had a tight grip on his desire to kill those two swamp rats as soon as they got back to the trail. He was certain Frank and the Barkley kids felt the same, to varying degrees. He was glad he and Frank were there to clean up the mess and take custody of the rustlers, living and dead, because it allowed Jarrod and Nick and Audra to just be with their brother and take care of each other.

Smith looked back for a moment to see Nick climb up on Nike. As he watched, Nick and Jarrod rode up close on either side of the big black, and the four siblings moved together away from the river. He saw Audra give Heath a kiss, and the brief flash of a smile she got in response. Smith nodded to himself, satisfied for now. With those four at the table, he suspected Death might not be so confident after all.