AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope those of you reading enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

Daryl managed to stay mostly away from the shanty for several days. He went only once a day to leave something—a bit of beaver that ate well enough when you were hungry, a jackrabbit or two, some of the jerky he'd prepared from the last time he'd had a deer, and a big piece of wild hog. He tried to give the loud, savage man the benefit of the doubt. He tried to tell himself that the man would make the shanty better, that he would provide for his mate, and that he wouldn't mark her anymore. He tried to make excuses for the man, deciding that he might have reacted poorly and accidentally out of hunger and fear, and maybe even sorrow because he wasn't providing well enough for his mate, and that he might grovel at the feet of the pretty woman and never show her his savageness again.

Of course, those were just stories he told himself in his head. Daryl didn't know how many nights and days went before he saw the pretty woman again—always leaving his gifts when she was inside the shanty—but he knew that he'd heard the loud, savage man yelling more than once during that amount of time and, when the woman next appeared outside and Daryl was able to see her, her face was no more healed than it had been and, in fact, the blood on her lip was fresh and she had another bruise to show for the time that Daryl hadn't seen her to covet her entirely.

After a fitful, nearly-feverish night of sleep, Daryl had risen to eat biscuits and cold meat while he contemplated the decision that he'd reached in the middle of the night.

The loud, savage man was the pretty woman's chosen mate. Daryl knew that some species of animals mated for life. They found a mate, mated for life, and never left that mate's side. He had always been a little sad to kill animals that he knew mated for life because it made his stomach hurt to think that, somewhere, their mate would likely mourn and waiting for their return. Other people, Daryl knew, didn't think that animals had feelings, but Daryl had always figured they did, and he didn't care for hurting anything unnecessarily. Sometimes it couldn't be avoided, and he knew that many of the mates went on to choose a new mate, but it didn't mean that Daryl didn't at least feel sorry for the suffering he might have caused—even when it was to something as simple as a beaver.

Humans, Daryl knew, were not an animal that mated for life. He had seen proof of the fact that humans were one of the animals that mated to grow the species. They mated when and where suitable and willing mates were available. They mated, as Jim had said it, for proliferation.

Daryl also knew that animals that mated merely to grow their species were often given to choosing a new mate each season or, at the very least, to taking a new mate when a better mate than their old one was available.

Animals looked for different things in their mates, but in the species that mated for seasons or for proliferating, one thing remained the same—they mated with the best that was available.

Daryl couldn't well imagine that the loud, savage man was the best mate available. The pretty woman had chosen him, that much was clear, but she could choose again. She was free to take another mate—a better mate—if one came along and wanted to mate with her for the good of the species. She was even free to go and hunt for a better mate of her choosing. They weren't mated for life, and she was free to go.

Daryl knew, though, that savage men like her mate—the truly savage kind—were cruel and ruthless. And he wouldn't want to part with his pretty mate. She could easily find a better mate than him, but Daryl was certain there was no prettier woman with which to mate, so the loud, savage man wouldn't want to part with her.

But if someone was to get her away from him, then she would be free to choose again. She would be free to choose a better mate—someone able to provide her with the things she needed, and someone who wouldn't mark her like he did. And once she'd chosen a better mate, then the loud, savage man wouldn't dare to come after her. After all, most animals were smart enough to know that their mate would only leave to choose someone better and, if they dared to try to contest that, then it just became a fight over territory—and the best man usually won the fight.

The pretty woman could choose a better mate. She just needed help getting free from the one she'd chosen poorly.

And Daryl was going to help her.

111

Daryl watched the sickly, swayback sorrel carry its burden away from the shanty. He waited a while for the horse to be able to cover a decent distance toward town, unknowing if the loud, savage man would be going to look for some sort of work or merely for whiskey and the painted women that were always some of the first arrivals any time a camp turned town.

Daryl wasn't sure how to approach the pretty woman with news of her soon-to-be freedom. He didn't know how to tell her that he was there to free her from the trap she'd made for herself and to turn her out to choose a new and better mate. All he really knew was that he had to do it. He had to see her go free from the loud, savage man. Maybe nobody told her that humans didn't mate for life. Maybe nobody told her that she had the right to choose again if her current mate wasn't the best available to her.

The town was new, but there were still a decent amount of people living just outside of it in their make-shift homes that, one day, would be permanent. Daryl could already pick half a dozen potential homesteads that would be better for her than the shanty she lived in now and, at least then, she'd be within walking distance of the town so she could buy or trade for goods to feed herself if she should choose poorly again when picking a mate out of those that were available in the homesteads.

Daryl decided that the only way to handle things was to simply approach the woman and free her. She might resist—animals sometimes resisted things that were for their own good, and people were animals—but Daryl was sure that she'd be appreciative as soon as she was away from the loud, savage man and understood that she was allowed to choose again—some better mate with different territory.

Daryl didn't want to waste much time. He didn't know when the loud, savage man might be back. He might be back soon, or he might stay gone the whole day—Daryl hadn't exactly studied his practices too closely. When the man did return, he would want his mate. He would react, as any animal did to the potential loss of their mate. He would want to fight.

Daryl didn't fear the loud, savage man, himself, but he did fear that he might do harm to the pretty woman since he had shown, already, that he didn't value her enough to care for her and protect her.

When the man was gone, and Daryl was confident he wouldn't be able to hear anything, he approached the shanty.

Daryl's knees felt weak and shaky. His head felt dizzy, like he'd had too much to drink. His heart raced and, suddenly, he couldn't quite remember how it was that he had swallowed for all the years that he'd somehow known how to do it.

Daryl knew what fear felt like, but he honestly hadn't experienced it in a while—these days he had come to accept nearly everything about his life, not as something to be feared, but rather as something to accept and experience. He was afraid when he parlayed with certain people, but either they would understand him and accept his words, or they would kill him. He was afraid when he encountered certain animals, but either they would go peacefully about their ways or one of them would be killed.

Daryl did not fear death. Those who feared their own death often left things behind that they feared leaving and losing. Daryl had nothing that, left behind, would miss the fact that he had ever lived at all.

Daryl didn't fear death, but the thought of facing the pretty woman frightened him. He wasn't prepared for that, and he told himself that it was only nature—she-bears and other females could be the most vicious of their species. He told himself it was natural to fear that she might attack.

Just as he'd known he was lying to himself when he'd told himself that he would no longer pass by the shanty, something in his gut knew that he was lying when he told himself that he feared the attack of the pretty woman—and not something else entirely.

Daryl wasn't sure exactly what to do. The door of the shanty wasn't fastened with the leather thongs that some used to hold wooden doors in place. Instead, Daryl could easily see that it was simply leaned against the doorway. He slipped his fingers around the sides of it and, lifting it, slid it to the side.

And he was, immediately, face to face with the pretty woman who, perhaps expecting the return of her mate, was frozen while she took in Daryl's appearance in her home.

Daryl's first instinct was to stare at her. This close to her, she was more beautiful than she had been at a distance. Daryl wanted to look at her—to really see her—and to study her. He liked the careful study of things when he was close enough to them to see them well and, in some cases, to touch them. He wanted to study her.

He didn't dare, though, because what he saw at that first glance was fear. True fear.

He had heard her loud, savage mate tell her about the dangers that lurked around her. He'd heard him yelling at her about savages and mountain men. He'd told her to fear what was around her.

Really, she needed to fear her mate more than anything around her, but it kept her in his territory, Daryl supposed, and kept her from recognizing a new and better potential mate that she might find by venturing out toward town.

She feared Daryl, immediately and completely, and for the first time in his life, Daryl was sorry for his appearance.

"Don't run," he said, holding his arms out to stop her if she tried to get around him. "Don't scream. I ain't gonna hurt you, but you gotta go with me."

Daryl meant to explain everything to her. He meant to tell her everything he'd been thinking about finding her a new mate. He meant to haul her down to the little places near the town and turn her loose to find something better. He meant to tell her that, in finding a new and better mate, she would find someone who could face down the loud, savage man that she'd mated to before.

He never got any of it out, though, because the color drained from the face of the pretty woman just as she opened her mouth to scream, or protest, or thank Daryl for his salvation—and she dropped hard to the floor.

Immediately, Daryl leaned over her. She wasn't dead. She'd lost consciousness. It happened, he knew, when fear sometimes got to be too much. When people got scared, they could act a lot of ways—this was one of the dumbest ways that Daryl thought the human body had of reacting to fear. It only amplified danger.

Daryl scooped up the pretty woman's body. She was light. She was much lighter than he would have imagined she might be.

He couldn't leave her here. He wouldn't leave her with the loud, savage man any longer. He couldn't leave her anywhere else, either, until she'd regained her senses. Otherwise, she would be at the mercy of any animal—man or otherwise—that might cross her path.

Carrying her with him, Daryl did the only thing that he could think to do.

He took her back to his camp to keep her safe until he could explain to her that he'd given her freedom from her mate—and then, he told himself, he would turn her loose to find someone more suitable.