The Beginning of the End

What was it all about? It wasn't robbery. I have nothing to take. It wasn't mistaken identity. She was a targeted bolt sent by the unknown marksman. She found her mark .... though I know the result was unexpected.

I don't remember the moment I left her. I wish I could. I remember a lane of wagons. I remember a cool stream. I remember drinking and drinking the cool water and I would swear to you I must have leaked like a sieve because I never got enough. I remember stripping and bathing in that stream. Washing the stain of her from me. Her lingering scent.

I think I must have passed out on the bank of that stream. I was probably invisible in the grass. Perhaps it saved my life, I don't know. It was getting light when I remember walking over a grassy bank and seeing the many Tuchuk wagons ahead of me. Missing pieces .... I remember the smooth steps of my wagon. I remember the darkness inside.

And now there is only the numbness and the fractured pain as bolts of light rip through the mist. I know my head hurts. I know the feel of this leather between my fingers. I know the rhythm of the braid.

But I do not know why. I knew it was a bad idea to start going around the first wagons. I knew someone would recognize me. I knew it was better to remain anonymous. I knew it was a bad idea to start reaching for those things taken from me. But what is done is done. Enough hiding. Fuck it. Their first shot failed....

I think.