When your love has moved away,

You must face yourself and you must say,

"I remember better days."

Don't you cry 'cause she is gone,

She is only moving on,

Chasing mirrors through a haze.

Now that you know it's nowhere,

What's to stop you coming home?

All you got to do is go there,

Then you'll really realize what's going down.

You went to a strange land searching

For a truth you felt was wrong.

That's when the heartaches started.

Though you're where you want to be, you're not where you belong.

Graham Nash

Sadie and John mounted their horses after the task of burying Rane Roth beside Arthur Morgan was completed, but they didn't start the trek down Mount Hagen, though neither spoke aloud why they hedged. John lit a cigarette and placed a hand on his hip, trying to appear aloof, and Sadie made a bit of a business of straightening the saddle blanket on Hera's back beneath her.

In truth, they were both waiting on Eli; neither wanted to leave him alone on the mountain, but it seemed wrong to force him to come away. He was still lying over Rane's grave, his heavy hooves curled beneath him, his mane hanging in his face, ears back and eyes lidded, his flaring nostrils disturbing little puffs of dusty snow before him. He was quite still save the flex of his breath in his sides and the twitch of his eyelashes. The snow continued to fall relentlessly, and it lit upon him from forehead to hindquarters. It was accumulating fast now, covering even the freshly turned earth where they'd dug their hole.

At length, John could stand it no longer. He clicked his tongue, slapping his thigh gently.

"Come on, Eli. Gee'up."

Eli made no indication that he had heard John, save a gentle twitch of his ear. John whistled loudly through his teeth.

"Eli. Come on, I said."

This did the trick. Eli turned his head toward John at last, blinking against the falling snow; after a moment he got laboriously to his feet at last and padded toward John, long tail swishing behind him. He had decided to go on, then. It was a small thing, but it was heartening to see, a little spot of light on that dark morning. Sadie sighed with unmistakable relief at John's side.

"Goddamn horse," she remarked with unmistakable affection. "Come on, John. I don't care to linger here any longer."

The ride back down was laden with a heavy silence, broken only by the clopping of hooves and the occasional call of crows overhead. It was getting toward afternoon now, and John felt a weird, deep dread of the evening coming that was becoming difficult to deny. His mind lingered on the sun setting, and the drawing darkness of the first night without Rane Roth in the world. It was a strange notion, because he had spent so many before thinking she was already long gone. Perhaps it was the surety of the thing. He dreaded facing Abigail, and being unable to hide his grief. He dreaded the long hours between dusk and dawn when he would surely lie awake, ruminating on Dutch Van Der Linde, and Micah Bell, and Arthur Morgan, and Rane Roth, and even goddamned Eli, the sight of him lying over her grave, the fetlocks of his hooves tangled with the raw dirt of her grave, guarding his mistress even in death. The idea of taking a room in a hotel in Valentine and getting sloppy drunk had occurred to him more than once.

"Hey, lemme ask you somethin', John."

John turned toward Sadie. She was smirking a little beneath her hat, the snow falling around her.

"What?"

"You remember that night she was in camp and she scared the livin' shit outta Micah?"

John watched her profile for a moment, bewildered by the smile spreading across his own face, then snorted in spite of himself. "Yeah, I sure do."

"Oh man, he shit his damn pants." Sadie was laughing a little, low. "And after she reamed Molly O'Shea, Dutch's ol' girl, rest her soul. Boy, oh boy, wasn't that a show."

"Yeah, it was a show, alright." John's laugh grew a little stouter at the memory. "The look on his face after she hooked them bullets. Boy, oh boy."

He pulled an ersatz expression of surprise, slapping a hand against his cheek. Sadie snorted.

"Arthur fell right over the damn chair he was sittin' on, he was so damned surprised -"

"And ol' Sean swan-divin' like his life depended on it, don't forget that part, sprayed his damn drink all over poor ol' Hosea -!"

Sadie was laughing now, too. "Oh, lord, he surely did!"

"What about her magickin' birds at folks passin' by in Saint Denis, scarin' em all shitless in the wee hours while we was all wasted drunk -?"

"Oh hell, that was the same night them fellers tried to wipe my memory, wasn't it?" Sadie was laughing openly now. "Reminds me of that time you got your damn fool self arrested and we had to come get ya . . . boy, you shoulda heard the sort of shit she was talkin' when we snuck into Sisika, John . . ."

"Yeah, well." John was rubbing his mouth, his smile fading a little. "She was sure somethin', wasn't she? Strange damn weird ol' girl."

"Pretty, though," Sadie remarked, throwing a look at him that seemed meant to be sardonic but fell a little flat against the grief between them. "Damn pretty girl, crazy or no."

"She surely was." John's voice had thickened a little, and he let it lie at this. They had reached a fork in the road, and Sadie heeled her horse as they reached it, facing Hera for the opposite direction. John glanced at her, surprised.

"What're you doin'? Ranch is west, girl."

"Yeah, I know it is, John Marston." Sadie slipped off her horse and stood in the dusty road, her blond hair over one shoulder, looking at him wryly. She pulled her hat off with one hand, letting it hang on her neck, exposing her whole face to him. "I ain't goin' that way."

John pulled Rachel to a stop too, sliding off the saddle and approaching her, his brow furrowed, confused. "You ain't?"

"No, I ain't." Sadie licked her thumb and ran it over his cheek, smiling a little. "You're filthy from all that gunsmoke and fightin', boy, you might wanna clean up before you get home."

"Where are you gonna go, then?"

Sadie shrugged. "On."

"On where?"

"Wherever it takes me, I suppose." Sadie reached out and grasped John's hands in both of her own, then reached up and kissed his cheek, something she had never done before. "I got a different road in front of me now, John, and it ain't the same one you're on anymore."

John was frowning at her, his brow knit. He pulled Arthur's hat off and held it in front of his chest, feeling a strange sensation of chagrin at this. The corners of his mouth were turned down and his eyes were bright. "Sadie, no, come on, now. You can't do that, not right now."

Sadie shook her head, grasping his shoulder. "You're gonna be alright, Mister Marston, I believe Rane had it right. You've had enough activity for a little bit, you need to go be with Abigail and Jack."

John nodded slowly, recognizing it for the farewell it was, and felt a heaviness in his chest that rivaled that of losing Rane. He squeezed her hands.

"You ain't comin' back again, are ya?" he asked her, a little thickly.

Sadie shook her head, meeting his eyes. "I believe we gotta part ways now, John, you gotta go on to your own makings. And that's probably best for each of us, and for your family. Jackie and Abigail, that's for you now. The rest of this is all done and dusted now Micah and Dutch are gone. You know it as well as I do. That was the last little bit of it that had to be laid down."

"Now, you don't have to -"

"Yeah, I do, honey." Sadie was nodding, pursing her lips. "It's okay, that's the way of things, is all. Ain't nothin' wrong with movin' on."

John watched her for a long moment, his brow still knitted, unhappy and still. At length he nodded, shifting his weight, lips pursed.

"Alright, then."

He pulled her to him and hugged her briefly, relishing her closeness. She allowed this for only a moment - they were both tough cards, at the end of the day - then released him and held him at arm's length, her eyes a little bright.

"You stay safe and be good with that ol' ranchin' farmer life, Johnny boy," she said softly, and patted his stubbly cheek with one hand, a little briskly. John laughed, low. "Keep that family safe. And keep that sword of Rane's, I bet it's worth somethin' someplace."

"It's worth somethin' with me, and that's the only place it's goin'," John replied solemnly.

"Atta boy."

With this Sadie Adler turned, not looking back, and mounting Hera she pulled her around and kicked her into a canter. She rode east, out of the falling snow, and John watched her go until they were out of sight, evident only by the hoofprints in the snow, already fading.

John Marston rode up on Pronghorn Ranch some half an hour later, Rachel stepping briskly between his legs. He had composed himself by then, and the snow had stopped falling, replaced now by a gentle, lukewarm rain, but Arthur's hat was still pulled low over his forehead, and Abigail was in the front yard of the ranch house, pulling weeds from the Spring vegetable garden with her dresses hitched up over her knees. As he tied Rachel and dismounted, she spotted him and rose, smoothing her skirts and starting for him. Eli was trotting some ways behind, reticent, ears pricked. He'd followed John since Sadie had departed.

"John?" Abigail had drawn flush with him, her eyes on Eli. "What the hell . . . whose horse is that? Did you buy another horse or somethin'?"

John turned, and in both hands he held the blade out to her. She recoiled a little at the sight of it, stopping short and eyeing this spectacle; John Marston, Arthur Morgan's hat pulled low on his head, with Rane Roth's sheathed sword held in both hands before him, as if in succor. Abigail's eyes turned from the sword to John, her face falling a little lax. She recognized it well enough, and when she spoke, her voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

"Oh, John. Did they get her?"

John nodded, and then, abruptly, dropping the sword to the dusty ground with a clang, he fell to his knees, his head dropping between his shoulders. Abigail fell before him, and with one hand pushed the sword out of the way, into the dust beside them. With the other she drew him nearer to her, and pressed her lips to his sweaty brow.

"Honey," she whispered, and curled her arms around him. Rane Roth's blade lay forgotten beside them in the dirt. "You c'mere, sir. Quit that, now, you tell me just what happened."

John nodded against her, burying his face in her shoulder and holding her close. "Okay, Abigail."