Batu's body heat reached me, and I realized he was standing quietly behind me, as if waiting to see what I'd do.
"I'm sorry, Batu," I murmured. "I don't know what I was thinking."
"Was it worth it?"
I twisted to gaze up at him. "Was what worth it?"
"Whatever it was that drew you here. I know they didn't force you this far." His dark eyes were on me. He had a way of peering into my soul without judging me, of making me think the man capable of massacring a room full of people wasn't going to hurt one hair on my head. His weapons were sheathed, his breathing hard and even. If anything, he appeared concerned.
"No, it wasn't," I said, thoughts on the slain. "I made a mistake. I don't know what's wrong with me."
I really didn't, except that I was shaken by the thought of spending the rest of my life here.
Batu reached around me to open the door. Without speaking, we left the men where they'd fallen and emerged into the dining area once more. Rather than stop for more food, Batu continued out the door and into the night.
"We aren't staying?" I asked as he strode towards the stables.
"It's not wise when you've just slain the owner, ugly one." He pointed out.
I was surprised he wasn't angry with me or upset my foolishness had made him kill a room full of people.
Moments later, we were leaving the trading post, headed into the night. The hand that got the full dose of the shit bucket was stinging. I unwrapped the bandages, doubting the filth-soaked linen was remotely good for my open wounds.
I was hurting and not just physically. If anything, the traveling and wounds in my hands and arms were wearing down my ability to manage the sorrow, confusion and ache of losing my world, my family, my life.
Desperation it is. It was creeping up on me, perhaps spurred on by exhaustion and the quiet days of travel. I slid into the deep, dark thoughts I'd been fighting since I left the eighteen forties.
We rode for quite a while. I was guessing he wanted to put distance between us and the trading post, in case someone came after us. The night was cool, but I was soon shedding my over tunic, hot despite the breeze of early fall that tickled my hair. I threw my head back to gaze at the diamonds glittering in the black silk of a sky above. It was beautiful, raw.
"What do you do, Moonbeam?" he asked curiously.
I blinked and lowered my gaze from the sky. My horse had stopped, and I was leaning back precariously on its back. "I'm not sure." I straightened. The pain in my arms and legs was gone, except for the cut in my hand that had been soaked with filth. I lifted it to my eyes, amazed by the stardust around it. Too hot, I fumbled to peel off another layer - and stopped.