Next chapter, folks! Sorry for the long wait. I'll be in Wyoming 15th of June to 29th of August, with no computer, so I won't be posting any updates in that period (if I see Butch I'll tell him you all said hi)
Once again, thank you to all that take time to review, follow or fav! Enjoy!
Chapter 28.
She wasn't sure the young boy had managed to hit the gang leader, but from what she could see, nothing seemed to obstruct Butch from firing back from behind the tree she was sitting against, holding her hands tightly pressed to her ears to block out the loud gun fight that had erupted. The child had cut the ropes tied around the wrists of his older brother in the short confusion after the first gun shot. Butch had lost his footing for only a split second, almost falling on top of her, but he had regained his balance sure enough.
Her ears rang from the loud blasts so close to her head, and the voices of the men yelling at eachother back and forth sounded like they were behind sound proof glass. The many guns firing at the same time filled the entire campsite with a thick layer of smoke, and the air started smelling like burned powder. Through the haze, she managed to open her eyes, her temporary state of deafness creating the illusion like she wasn't part of the violent scene taking place. She blinked slowly, her own breathing and the ringing in her ears the only sound she could detect. She watched the teenager empty his revolver with a new found determination now his bindings were off, all in an effort to protect his younger brother, who had the same sort of deranged anger written allover his pale face. The bullets soared right past her person, some burying themselves into the tree, covering her in snippets of wood, but she hardly realized it through her shell shocked daze.
The old man, still tied down, yelled till his voice gave out. His face red and swollen from panic and anger. He struggled against his bindings, and she watched him move his mouth, but there was no sound to detect for her. The fat man still sat quietly, crying, and praying to anyone willing to listen.
From where she and Butch had entered the campsite, two horses came bursting through the smoke. Their own horses. She felt the ground vibrate under their heavy hooves, but she didn't hear their feet touch the frozen soil. They ran past the fat man and the old navigator, spooked by something, and galloped past her, past the tree, disappearing from her sight. It only slowly reached her mind that they had just lost their method of transport to something she didn't seem to be a part of.
"We lost the horses.." she whispered to no one in particular, her head throbbing from the blast. "I saw them.." No one seemed to hear her. She couldn't even hear herself.
Coming out of nowhere, an arrow hit the old man right in the chest, and his angered face changed into that of a dying human, blood covering his lips as he struggled for air from his penetrated lungs. She frowned at the sight, thinking her mind was playing tricks on her eyes. Another arrow hit the fat man in his leg, and he screamed out in pain, but again the sound was lost to her. Yet the firing of guns, and bullets flying back and forth without ever hitting her, continued on full force. Then an arrow buried itself into the tree right next to her head.
From left and right Apache riders came bursting into the camp, knocking over boxes and saddles on their way. Their war cries went unheard, but the sight of them was enough to make her heart beat in her throat. Their faces painted red and black, riding decorated and adorned horses, they butchered those still tied down without mercy or second thought. When one of them locked eyes with the girl sitting on the ground leaning against a tree, he raised his bow, aiming at the small space between her eyes. She blinked slowly at the magnificent looking Apache warrior, remembering her father's and grandfather's stories about the proud tribe that had aided them more than once. The irony that she would die at the hands of one, was almost comical. As he fired, she was yanked aside roughly, and pulled to her side. An arrow hit the tree right where her head had been a few split seconds ago. Her view changed. Suddenly she was gazing at the swaying tree tops, staring straight into Orion's belt. She heard the dimmed blasts of gunshots firing close to her head, now on the ground. Butch's face came into view, his sky blue eyes wild and angry. He yelled at her, his mauled lips formed her name, but his voice sounded like someone was yelling at her from beneath the water surface. She blinked at him slowly.
"I can't hear you." She whispered, feeling her head throb painfully. The collar of his white shirt was stained red with blood, and she frowned at the sight. "You're bleeding." Her observations were lost to him and he frowned at the state she was in, looking her up and down to see if she might be injured. "I'm fine." She continued her soft spoken explanations, not sure if he could hear her. Another threat caused him to avert his attention to what she couldn't see, and he fired his guns with skill and determination. Despite the chaos, she felt like she could sleep, and she closed her eyes to allow herself to float to another world. Back to her mother's ranch. In her mind it was still standing, no traces of the fire that had burned it down. Grandfather in his rocking chair on the porch, waved at her, and smiled. All seemed fine. But her peace was short lived as she was pulled to her feet roughly, the world dancing in front of her disorientated eyes. Dragged along by her arm, Butch took her away from the still unfolding scene of horror. Her feet obeyed without asking her brain for permission, and she ran with him, sometimes tripping, but he made sure her buckling knees never touched the ground. Horse riders passed them by, riding into the war zone they were leaving behind, they were Tonkawa, and ignored her and the gang leader as he lead her through the maze of horse legs.
The fate of the child suddenly crossed her sedated mind, and she peered over her shoulder. The boy was standing next to the butchered form of his older brother, three arrows sticking out of his back, and gazed down at it with tear stained cheeks, his gun hanging at his side, forgotten, as the two Indian tribes exploded in a war that was not his own, and in which he had no part.
She pulled on Butch's arm, intending to stop him in his tracks, but he was stronger. "Wait.." he didn't hear her, so she pulled harder, digging her heels into the frozen soil. It caught his attention and he looked at her with wild eyes, yelling something incoherent that was undoubtedly the order to hurry up. Determined, she grabbed a nearby branch, holding on to it for dear life as she fought against him. "I'm not leaving him." she said. He had enough, and picked her up roughly, hanging her over his wounded shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She struggled, and fought, and beat him until she hit his wound and he released her with a sharp cry. She fell to the ground, the leaves cushioning her fall, and she quickly got to her feet with the intention to run back. Again he grabbed her arm, and she turned to kick him, aiming for his shin, but the tip of her boot landed straight between his legs. It worked. He let her go, and she didn't stick around to watch him double over in pain.
As fast as her feet could carry her she hurried back to the campsite, where the ground was littered with fallen Apache and Tonkawa warriors, she jumped over their bodies. Horses without riders ran around in pure panic. And for those still atop their mounts, the fight continued. Arrows flew back and forth, and she made her way through the chaos of horse legs until she got to the child. She picked him up, like a mother risking everything to rescue her youngsters, and made way for the trees, hoping Butch was waiting for her despite what she had done to him.
But he wasn't there anymore.
Looking around, she called for him, but no answer came. The child's silent wailing slowly made its way into her brain, barely processing the sound. She held on to him more closely, and hushed him in between her calls for help. The sounds of the fight died out as she proceeded on the way Butch had shown her, and slowly, her hearing returned. The noises of the forest by night a welcome gift. She listened to her own breathing as she walked, getting strenuous from carrying the boy. His crying had subsided, and he seemed to have decided to rest in his fate. As the last rays of glow from the campfire died out, and engulfed them both in absolute darkness, she stopped and let the boy stand on his own two feet, her arms numb from his weight. She deemed them both safe enough to take a short repose, and leaned against a tree to catch her breath, watching it form ghosts of fog in the cold night air.
She wondered if Butch had decided to leave her behind. Finally fed up with her disobedience. His warning had been very clear before, perhaps it had been her final one, and this was her punishment. Abandonment in a place she didn't know, with nowhere to go. She closed her eyes at the thought and grimaced. Frustrated with herself, she banged the back of her head against the tree gently. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The boy touched her hand, worried about her behaviour, and she looked down at him, forcing a sad smile.
"They killed my brother." He stated dryly. "He shouldn't have killed one of them first." He was wise beyond his years, and it worked against him in every way. The more you know, the more you suffer. "Are you part of the Cavendish gang?"
She huffed. Some gang. The question reached her only slowly, and she let it roll around in the back of her mind for a moment. Looking down at herself, she couldn't blame the child for his question. Dressed in Frank's clothing, she looked as much as an outlaw as Butch himself. "No.." she finally decided on saying, her eyes roaming the dark woods surrounding them. "I just.. travelled with them. For a while." Her explanation made no sense to the child, and he gazed at her with a confused expression. She ignored it by lack of a better alibi, and sighed heavily, wondering about what to do now. "We can't linger here." She said. "Come on." As she started walking, he followed in close pursuit, like she had done with the gang leader. Once lost, you're willing to follow anything and anyone who claims to know the way.
The moon decided to lend her guidance in small quantities. Shining down only sporadically on the two lost souls in the middle of the grand Apache forest. The frozen leafs cracked under the four feet, announcing winter, and a cold night that wasn't over yet. There was no path laid out for them, no road to follow, and she simply trusted on her instincts to walk the same way Butch had done. But she wasn't sure they weren't walking in circles. Her quick pace caused the boy to have a hard time to keep up with her, but it also kept the both of them sufficiently warm enough to withstand the winter air, and as the night progressed, and everything turned as silent as a graveyard around them, snowflakes came twirling down the black sky, covering the ground in a white layer of cold fluff within the course of an hour. Any traces of Butch's whereabouts were hereby erased, and she realized she was on her own.
They had been walking for hours, with no conversation taking place to spare their energy, when she stopped to catch her breath, looking around her with unseeing eyes. Nothing had changed around them. The forest was packed tight, the snow had almost completely hidden the leafs beneath their boots.
"Do you think I killed him?" came the question behind her back.
She frowned at the almost pride in the child's voice. "I don't know." She replied after a few moments of hesitation. "I don't think so."
"I did hit him though." The boy continued. "He's bleedin' awful bad, I know he is."
She shook her head in disbelief and gazed up at the dark sky, following the snowflakes on their slow way down. "Shooting people is bad." She whispered. "Didn't your mother teach you that?" the child did not respond, and it told her all she needed to know. "I suppose not." She added softly. "whatever she did teach you, I hope it included navigating yourself in unknown places. Mine sure skipped that lesson." Exhausted, and demoralized from all that happened in the past few hours, she leaned against a tree, sinking through her tired knees slowly. "And honestly I have no idea where we are."
The boy came into her view, his big doe eyes gazing at her with a patience foreign to her tired person. "Atleast you're rid of him." he told her. His ways of trying to remain positive unhandy and not what she needed to hear right now. "He shot Zeke. I hope he dies."
Gazing back at him wearily, she shook her head slowly. "What caused you to become so bloodthirsty at your age?" she whispered. "If you must know, he might have been our only chance to get out of this forest alive. He always knew exactly where we were. Without ever needing a map." She explained. The boy did not reply, and sat down next to her instead, sniffling because the cold made his nose runny. "And I know it sounds strange but.. He made me feel safe." She continued, peering into the dark nothingness ahead of her. "Only Heaven can help us now." She didn't move when the boy huddled against her form, looking for warmth and the conformation she was there. Carefully, she wrapped her arm around him.
She didn't think she had ever been in a forest this quiet. The silence was deafening. The snowfall had dimmed every noise, not even the wind could be heard howling through the distant canyons. She tried her best to remain awake, for the child's sake, and her own, but her exhaustion worked against her, and she had to fight to keep her eyes open and alert. She noticed with worry how the cold refused to touch her. Only the boy was shivering as they were both slowly covered under a blanket of snow, as if mother nature herself tucked them into bed, with the intention of never letting them wake up again. She fought the drowsiness that came with exposing the human body to extreme low temperatures, and felt her heart work double time to keep her system heated in vain.
Hearing the faint noise of heavy footsteps in the now approaching her, she opened her nearly frozen shut eyelids. From out of the hazy dark, the blanket of snow reflecting the light of the moon, came a horse, ridden by a figure clouded in shadows. She frowned at the sight, trying to make out the identity of both rider and mount. The animal halted in front of her, its muzzle close to her nose, as it nuzzled her in curiosity. Its warm breath melted the snowflakes in her hair, causing them to melt, and run down her face and into the collar of her shirt. She shivered, and blinked against the odd contact. The rider seemed to agree with what the horse was doing, and did not dismount until her shivering had subsided a little, warmed by the gentle animal's behaviour.
Silently hoping it was Butch who had decided to come look for her, she tried to calm herself as the mysterious rider approached her and covered her with a large buffalo hide, smelling vaguely like burned sage and wet dogs. It wasn't Butch. For Butch smelled like gunpowder, leather, sweat and occasionally blood. Whoever it was, he tried to save her life, and started building a fire from small twigs he fished out of the thick layer of snow, brushing them off against his buckskin sleeves and blowing them dry with his hot breath. In the dim light of the low burning flames, she recognized the old, worn features of chief Red Elk, concentrating on his task with a calmness that proved to be contagious. He waited till she stirred, till her limbs didn't scream anymore with every movement, before he spoke.
"Snow came sooner than I thought." He said. Again, his choice of opening line had nothing to do with the current situation, and she was still getting used to his way of starting a conversation. She sat up, trying not to wake the sleeping child, huddled against her side, and held a shivering hand to her forehead to steady herself. Her body was slowly warming up, and she felt the after effects of near hypothermia rattling her core. He handed her a buckskin sack which served as a canister to hold fluids, and made a movement to tell her she was supposed to drink whatever was inside. Thinking it unwise to disobey, she took a careful sip, and coughed harshly against the strong taste.
"Mezcal." Red Elk explained. "Women should not drink, but I fear you will not last the night if you don't."
She made a face, still coughing, and closed the container. "You mean after Mr. Cavendish just left me?" she added bitterly. "Did he tell you I'm your problem now?"
The old man gazed at her impassively, sitting calmly across the fire in a crossed legged position, his expression hard to read. "He went to get his horses. They are worth more to him than a rancher's daughter. But I don't think he left you." His eyes, filled with wisdom, strayed to the sleeping boy, unaware of what was taking place. "That child killed three of my tribesmen. This makes him mine. Though I'm willing to make a trade."
Instinctively, she tightened her hold on the boy, and gazed at the chief with a defying stare. "What will you do with him?" the old man did not reply. "Like Hell I will hand this child over to a tribe of Indians. What, so you can kill him?" Again, the Indian chief didn't offer any explanation, and simply let her huff and puff, like he knew women would and could do when something didn't go their way. In the end, he would get what he want anyway. "I'm not making any trade." She decided, shaking her head at the very thought. "I'm taking him to Standing Faith, where I was originally headed to before Butch decided to hand me over to the Indians. I'll find a more suitable solution for him there."
She would have said more had more horses and riders not joined their party. There were four, five, Tonkawa men, riding into their small camp on breezing, decorated horses. Weary from battle, but obviously victorious. They dismounted, and in their native tongues, talked to their chief, who nodded in understanding. She had no idea what was said among the men, but they looked at her like they were planning to take her scalp and leave her for dead in what was now Tonkawa territory. She wrapped her arms around the boy protectively, like she expected him to be yanked from her grip at any given moment, but no movement toward her was made, and she was left in oblivion about what was to become of her and the young child she had saved.
The wagon with hides was ushered into the camp by one of the Tonkawa men, who had obviously taught himself how to drive a wagon pulled by mule.
"These hides are already branded by the white men." Red Elk explained to her, as if the fate of the lot of hides was of a main concern to her right now. "This makes them undesirable to the Apache. They do not trade in branded hides." She gazed at him in confusion, having no idea why he was telling her this. "And we do not trade in branded women." Red Elk continued, pointing at the scar above her left eyebrow, left there by Evans. "You must know your worth. Which is not much. Unlike the child you're trying to protect despite it not being yours."
Getting fed up with being told how worthless she was, she rolled her eyes in anger and frustration, looking away from the chief's unyieldingly calm gaze. "I don't care what you offer me, I'm taking this child with me."
Red Elk nodded. "You're better than the man who gave you that scar." He told her. "But you're not better than me." She was quiet. "The child stays."
"And his mother won't ever see either of her children again." Eleanor said, her anger replaced by a deep sadness. "One dead. The other captured by Indians." It seemed to have made Red Elk think, for he gazed at her in contemplation. "How would you feel if one of your children was taken by white folk? Would you listen to their reasons as they explained to you they considered him theirs since he killed white men?"
"I think it would depend on what the white men would want to do with him." Red Elk said. "I wish to educate this child. Not harm him. If I wished him harm, I would send him back to the violent world he was brought up in." she remained silent. "A world you have been sheltered from for a long time, but is much the reality to many others." She averted her gaze to the snow covered ground, knowing he was right. "You should rest, and not worry about the fate of this child. It is by far better than your own." As she tried to reply, he held up his hand, indicating he had ended the discussion, and she was to speak no more. Feeling fatigued, weary, and cold, she decided to let him have his way, and be quiet.
The soft spoken conversations between the Indians calmed her wrecked nerves, and somehow put a stop to her worries if Butch would come back for her. She tried to keep her eyes open for as long as she possibly could, to keep an eye on the younger men surrounding their chief. One of them was undoubtedly the chief's own son, and the next chief to be. They wore the same sort of necklaces, made out of blue stones, feathers and the teeth of an animal. Much like the one White Feather had given her at the fort. But she had been Apache, and not Tonkawa. He couldn't be much older than she was, and it was obvious he disagreed with his father's more peaceful ways of dealing with her. Their heated discussion, or rather his own heated temper, and his father's everlasting tranquillity, lulled her into sleep eventually.
Her dreams showed no mercy to her shaken body and tired brain. The small coyote with his bright blue eyes visited her in an open space of the forest. His paws leaving no prints in the freshly fallen snow, as if he floated just above the surface of the earth. Even in her sleep, she felt the cold, and she shivered trying to keep her eyes on the small animal that seemed to lead her away from the small open space. As his speed increased, so did hers, trying to keep up with the much faster animal until she had to admit to herself she had lost track of him. Again, she was alone in the empty forest that almost seemed to harbour no lifeforms at all, and from which there was no way out, unless you managed to keep up with the spirits that had been there before.
The crying of a child in the distance caused her to spin around, only to face the blazing view of a burning Indian village, the fire melting away the snow in the tree tops, scorching the leafs and leaving nothing but blackened stems and twigs, swaying in the heated air currents. The sheer ferocity of it, its almost infernal heat, played with her hair, and caused her to blink painfully. Sparks illuminated the night air, creating more stars in the sky than there should be. The crying continued vaguely in the background, and she forced herself to look for the child wailing pitifully in the hell before her.
All she found was the coyote. In the middle of what seemed to be the town's square, he gnawed on the lifeless body of a deceased child, blood covering his snout and dripping from his whiskers. She whimpered in shock, and stood as frozen to the ground when the animal lifted its head to look at her. A sudden fit of rage came over her, and she let out a frustrated yell, bending down to pick up a rock. "Get out of here!" she cried, tossing the rock as hard as she could at the animal. The first one missed. The second one was a hit. The coyote yelped in pain as it hit one of his sensitive, lean legs. "Go away!" she threw another rock, hitting the animal's face. "Leave him alone!" she had had enough of this hound of perdition haunting her dreams, and even showing itself to her in her waking life. But instead of leaving, the coyote turned its vicious attention on her now, and slowly stalked up to her, its front teeth bared, showing its blood covered canine fangs. She backed away, still yelling for it to leave her alone, until she tripped over another dead body, and fell to the ash covered ground. The coyote launched its attack, and jumped on her, sinking its teeth into her arm. She cried out in pain, and struggled to get the snarling animal off of her. The more she beat it, the more his growls transformed into that of a human voice.
"Eleanor! Hey! HEY! STOP IT! ELEANOR!"
She froze, opening her eyes, no longer holding a fistful of fur, but the material of Butch's long coat. She stared at him wild eyed, as he returned her gaze with a puzzled and slightly out of breath expression.
"Where is it?!" she asked, sitting up and pushing him off of her. He gave no resistance, and moved away from her to sit back on his knees, still trying to collect his bearings, as was she. He had been trying to wake her from her nightmare for quite some time.
"Where's what?" he replied, almost bored.
"The coyote!" she continued, and looked around. "It was right here! And there was a burning village and.. and Sam.. Sam was dead!" she looked back at him, her expression turning angry. "What did you do?! Where is Sam?!"
Offended, he huffed. "Who the hell is Sam?!" he barked back. "Ah've been tryin' to stir ye from a nightmare for the past 20 minutes! That's what ah've been doin'!" slowly, it started to make sense to her, and she averted her gaze from his wild eyes to the silent staring of the Indians standing behind him, giving her curious looks. Sam stood next to Red Elk, holding on to the old man's hand like he had found his long lost father. "Ye were dreamin'" he explained more calmly. "Ah came back with them horses and Red Elk told me he couldn't get ye out of it. So here we are." She said nothing, still trying to make sense of it all. "And we've been here before, haven't we? Ah woke ye from one of these before." He continued. "Look at me." She obeyed, albeit unwillingly, and allowed him to stare into her eyes intently, as if looking for a particular thing.
She faintly noticed how he had wound his scarf around his shoulder, it was stained red with blood, but it had stopped bleeding a while ago. "You're wounded." She stated.
"Yea, ah got shot by a kid." He mumbled gruffly, ceasing his search for whatever it was he looked for in her gaze. "Got a three inch bullet in my shoulder. Guess who's fault that is, hm?" He gave her a meaningful glare and slowly got up from the ground with visible difficulty. "Not to mention ah'll be pissin' blood for a week." He growled. "Let's go." He swayed where he stood, took one last look at her, and then turned away, mumbling something to Red Elk, who gave no reaction other than a soft sigh. Somehow, by the tone in Butch's voice, she knew she had messed it up this time. He had never been anything but distant, and she always felt like trying to claw up a wall whenever she talked to him, but there was almost hurt in his voice this time. And she wasn't sure it was because of the loss of blood, or a feeling of betrayal.
As Butch made his way towards the horses, Red Elk's son mumbled something in his native language. The rest of the young warriors chuckled, and Butch spun around. "The Hell did ye just call me?!" He barked, walking up to the chief to be with a furious expression. The young Tonkawa man didn't move away, and didn't look scared or intimidated either, more defying, and ready for a fight he tried to start himself. Butch brought his face close to the upcoming chief. "Ye say that again, hm? Ah bet ye won't. Ah bet even ye aint that stupid."
"Enough." Red Elk ordered calmly. "Let him take this woman off our lands. They have no business here, and are free to leave without obstruction." For a moment it seemed neither of them was going to stand down, but then the young Tonkawa stepped back, a haughty glare on his strong face, not even he would defy his father's rules. He hissed another thing or two in his native tongue, only causing Butch's anger to build.
"Yea yea, ye have a lot o' nerve when yer daddy is around, don't ya?" The outlaw snarled, obviously trying to get the young Indian to make a mistake a suffer his father's wrath. "Yer time will come, boy. Let's see how ye fair then, eh? Ye'll be too busy makin' enemies left and right te see me strollin' through yer lands." It took a lot of discipline from the young man to not launch an attack on the arrogant gangleader, but with his father standing in the corner of his eyes, he dared not make a wrong move, and gave Butch the way eventually.
As the situation calmed, Red Elk looked down at the girl still sitting on the ground, the buffalo hide tightly around her. "You may keep that. As a reminder of this place." The chief explained, pointing at the fur. "Now we say goodbye." With one hand on the child's shoulder, he helped her up gently. "It isn't far to where you want to go, but I fear for him he may not make it." Red Elk continued gently. "He should not have gotten shot."
She peered over the chief's shoulder at the tired gang leader, trying to climb on top his horse without making too much of a show of himself.
"There was no persuading him to stay here." The chief explained to her. "These woods take him back to a time he was much more vulnerable than he is now. He does not wish to revisit those times."
She looked down at her boots, not feeling much for joining Butch on his way into town. She feared she might be up for reprimands all the way down the mountain, depending on how much energy the man had left with a bullet wound. She swallowed thickly, a question creeping into the back of her mind.
"I have these recurring dreams.." she started carefully, feeling silly already. "At times, they feel so real.."
Red Elk held up his hand to stop her. "I know. They worry me too." He said calmly. "I have not yet found their meaning. But when I find out, I will find a way to tell you. Until then.. I suggest you stop throwing rocks at things with teeth." She looked up at him sharply, wide eyed, wondering how he knew what her dreams had been specifically. "Your kindness brought you further than your anger." He continued, ignoring her visible panic. "Anger tends to break that what kindness created."
Whether or not the Indian chief was telling her to be nice to Butch, it was time to go, and she couldn't help but smile at the old man and the wisdom he was so willing to share with anyone in need of it. She looked down at the child, who seemed as calm as a lazy river in the summer, nothing seemed to worry him about staying with the Tonkawa's. Reaching up, she took off the silver cross she wore around her neck since she was a child.
"I want you to have this." She said to the child, gently pulling the necklace over his head.
Sam pointed at the feather band around his neck. "I already have something to protect me." He said proudly. She shook her head and smiled.
"The more Gods the better." She replied, tapping his nose gently. "Be good, Sam."
She had no idea how to say goodbye to the chief, what their customs were concerning goodbyes, so she nodded, and made her way over to Bobby. Somehow, her horse had regained his saddle, and seemed glad to see her. She climbed up, and shot Butch a quick look, indicating she was ready to go. The gang leader had no need for goodbyes, and didn't even raise a hand to the Indians, he simply turned his horse toward the descending path and lead her down the rocky trail. She blinked against the first sharp rays of sunlight, shining brightly through the pine trees. Every night ends. She reminded herself. There is a sunrise for everybody, if you only have the courage to wait long enough.
R&R please.
