"The leaves are all dead on the ground,

Save those that the oak is keeping

To ravel them one by one

And let them go scraping and creeping

Out over the crusted snow,

When others are sleeping."

- Robert Frost

Cripps had had a few things to say when I arrived back at camp, almost a whole day later than he had expected me. He had told me he was worried sick, that he'd barely slept, that he thought the worst had happened...all while furiously pulling the liquor out of the saddle bags with shaking hands. I asked him to play the harmonica, it's perhaps the fastest anyone had ever told me no. The rest of the evening was spent on opposite ends of the camp. He eventually drank himself to sleep, I wondered over to remove the bottle from his hands. Empty already.

I lit a cigarette and sat by the fire to warm my feet. I'd not given much thought to what I would do if Cripps were to die. He was and old man and he didn't exactly take care of himself. Would I continue with business? Could I continue the business? He had all the contacts; he prepared all the product. All I did was shoot and drive wagons. No, I couldn't do it alone. What else was there? I could always take up bounty hunting full time? Maybe see if Maggie Fike would let me work for her? I could go back to selling pelts for scraps? I didn't need much to get by.

I blew out smoke as I looked over at Cripps' sleeping form, curled up in the back of the wagon, his chest rose and fell silently. The movement was the only confirmation that he was still alive. Is there anything I could do to keep him around? Perhaps he would drink less if he had to ride to Valentine himself. Perhaps he would end up in the saloon. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration, deciding there was nothing I could ever force the man to do, or not do. Even for his own good. Whatever happened, happened. And I would keep moving. I had to keep moving.

I was so caught up in my spiralling thoughts that I hadn't noticed how quiet it was. I hadn't noticed the lack of grazing pronghorns, or the sudden weight in the atmosphere.

I hadn't noticed, not until it was too late.

I reached for my gun, but they were already on me. A rag was shoved in my mouth before I had the chance to let out a scream, the shrill laughter of the attackers rang in my ears, drowning out my struggle. I kicked wildly in every direction and threw my body left to right in a desperate attempt to get free. But two pairs of hands pinned me down as my head was shoved into the dirt with great force, my arms pulled behind my back in an unnatural position. I looked up to see the tip of a boot, and then nothing.

There was nothing. No oblivion. No white light. No hand reaching out through the darkness. Just nothing.

And then suddenly I was falling back to earth. The sound of the fire and the smell of cooked meat. The loud, high-pitched shriek of the intruder's laughter. The overwhelming pain in the side of my head.

I opened my eyes and looked around wildly, my hands were tied to the hitching post behind my back, I had been propped up onto my knees, Aine was nowhere to be seen. I looked towards the wagon and squinted, trying to make out the details through my blurred vision. I could just about make out Cripps' curled up figure, had they not noticed him? Had they already killed him?

"Well, lookie here!" One of them shouted, he was drunk. Even with my limited function I could tell he was drunk. "She's up! Roy, she'd up!"

Roy. The one with the thick moustache was Roy. I'll remember that.

"Mornin' darlin'," he slurred as he sauntered over, he gripped my chin roughly with his filthy hands and pulled up head up to look at him. "Pretty lil thing like you out here on your own, with all this?" he gestured to the stock pile.

They thought I was alone. Which meant they hadn't noticed Cripps in the wagon, but I knew it wouldn't be long until they did. Damn it, Cripps! Help me! I started slowly rubbing my palms together, praying to a god I didn't believe in that they had been too drunk to tie a good knot.

"We gon' have some fun." the other man said, all gum and no tooth. He looked small enough to break. I vowed to test that.

The man named Roy kneeled down in front of me, his face only inches from mine, he smelt like hot pig shit. He gripped the side of my head, lacing his fingers into my hair. I let out a scream but the rag prevented any noise from escaping. He stuck his tongue out and licked up the side of my cheek slowly. I willed myself not to cry, anything but that.

"Go look for cash, I'll keep this one entertained." Roy breathed, his dry lips moving against my face.

Still rubbing my palms together, I managed to look down at his waist and spot his pistol, holstered. I hoped there would be bullets. The other man had started rummaging through my tent, I sent a silent thanks to the universe that he chose the tent before the wagon. If my plan failed, I hoped they'd kill him quickly.

Roy moved his hand down to my shirt and swiftly tore it open, I bellowed with all my might, thrashing and writhing like an animal in a trap. At the core of it, that's exactly what I was. A wild animal caught in a trap. I kept rubbing my palms together with every ounce of energy I had in me, not being able to tell if the ropes were getting slack or if my imagination was playing cruel tricks on me.

He clamped his hand onto my breast with enough force that I thought I surely must die. For a moment all hope was lost, he was going to take me. Then he was going to kill me. They would find Cripps and fill him with bullets. They would take Aine, or shoot her. They would sell every worldly possession I own. My mother's necklace. My father's bow. My brother's hat. It would all be sold or burnt. They would invade my body and they would invade my home.

But the ropes were getting slack, I was sure of it now. I could feel them sag around my wrists. And so I I kept going. Roy's roaming hands were enough of a distraction that he didn't even think to check. He stood up and looked down at me, I hated to think how small I must have seemed to him, how weak. If only he knew it was the last thing he would ever be wrong about. He took a long swig from his flask before be looked back down and spat the liquor onto my face. I recoiled at the shock and the sting in my eyes, but I kept going.

And then it happened. The rope gave way, pooling like a serpent in the grass. Roy looked over his shoulder to laugh with the other man and it gave me the only window I needed. It was over before it had begun. I reached for the pistol in his holster, hearing only the faintest "Oh, fuck." before I pointed the barrel under his chin and pulled the trigger. I heard his throat fill with blood as he fell before me. The other man had frozen in place, by the time he'd consulted himself and reached for his weapon I'd already aimed. He let out a small whimper as I fired.

And then it was quiet. Really quiet and really still. I stood there, bared to the world around me, covered in the blood of the man at my feet. I stepped over him quickly and marched towards the wagon, unsure of what would be worse. If Cripps was dead, or if he had slept through the whole thing.

It turns out he was very much alive, and very much asleep. Enraged, I grabbed the wash bucket and emptied it out over him, he shot up like a lightning bolt.

"What the-"

"What the hell, Cripps!" I yelled, voice wobbling. My eyes filled with tears as the adrenaline started to settle. He sat up and took me in, exposed, battered and bloody. He pulled himself out of the wagon and looked at the devastation surrounding us. I heard the breath hitch in his throat.

"Did-did they?"

"Nearly."

"Was I-"

"Fucking sleeping. You were fucking sleeping." I spit. He looked down at the bottles that lined the wagon, all empty. All emptied by him.

"You let me down." I add, barely a whisper.

He was too ashamed to look at me, too ashamed to see the state of my face, the state of my body. He slowly handed me his blanket, which I snatched and wrapped around my chest. Everything hurt like I'd been thrown from a cliff. I noticed his hands were shaking, not from the drink this time.

"I'm...Nora, I'm so sor-"

"Get them out of here. Now." I snap, before turning on my heel and marching away from him. I whistled loudly, my last ounce of hope residing in Aine. My heart almost burst from my chest when she appeared from the bushes, she had run away. She was clever.

I tended to my wounds as evening turned into dawn, Cripps loaded the bodies of my attackers onto the wagon and took them out into the woods somewhere. He said he would throw them from a great height, or leave them near the wolf's den. I said nothing. I had nothing to say to him. I washed the blood from my body in the river, taking a moment to let the cold water run over me. Cleansing me of the sins committed against me as it did for those committed by my hand. I checked on my belongings, I checked on the stock. I did anything I could except rest as I awaited Cripps' return.

When he arrived back with an empty wagon, I finally put my tools down. He grabbed hold of his carbine repeater, holding onto it so tightly that his knuckles lost all colour, and looked over at me. His face was a painting of misery and self-loathing.

"You should sleep now, Nora." he said, as he perched on the log opposite me. I looked at him for a moment, wanting him so make another attempt at an apology so that I had a reason to throw something at him. I wanted him to feel how I felt.

How did I feel? Scared. I felt scared.

I thought better of it, and dragged my aching body over to my tent. Laying down in the darkness I willed myself to drift.

Much of the next day was spent resting, sleeping or eating. Cripps routinely came over to check on my bruises, to ask if I needed anything, to check if I'd abandoned him in my rage. I'd thought about it, running away and starting again. I wasn't sure how I could live here now; the grass has been coated in their blood, the dirt I'd scraped from my fingernails is the same dirt I was sleeping on. Was it all tainted?

Cripps had carried bucket after bucket from the river to wash the blood away, he'd taken my ruined shirt and thrown it into the fire, promising to make me a new one from the finest leather. I didn't respond. He checked on my wounds and cleaned the gash to my face, I said nothing. He must have apologized a hundred times or more throughout the day, I offered him no forgiveness. While I knew he had not been the one that did this, I could not look past the fact that he had remained undisturbed. Lost in the ecstasy of his addiction. I wasn't sure how to face him, let alone forgive him. I wasn't sure how to forget that he had been only a few steps away and I had been so completely and utterly left to fend for myself. Perhaps traveling with someone for these years had made me complacent, perhaps I would have heard them coming, noticed the change in the atmosphere, had I not been relying on someone else.

Perhaps I would have had less fight in me.

The throbbing had taken over most of the right side of my body, my face was swollen and misshapen, my ribs black and blue as though I'd been kicked by a horse. It hurt to chew, to swallow, to move. I pondered the ins and outs of it all into the night, Cripps was as sober and alert like I'd never seen him before. He begged me to rest while he stood guard, he pleaded with me to stop what I was doing and let myself heal. I fought the urge for a long time, shaking myself into consciousness, until it was too difficult. Until I had no choice but to trust him, no choice but to put my life in his hands. No choice but to sleep.