He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. You’ll end up dead, that’s what. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens.
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