He nodded to Locke, then to Cable and Reta, who had joined in the vigil. "He's resting nicely," Bannon told them. "It's what he needs, for nature is the great healer. Generally all that we medicos can do is give a helping hand. There'll be no change for some time, so if you're riding, Orin, I'll go with you." "I'm heading out past the Wagon Wheel," Locke conceded. "That suits me fine." Not until they were in the saddle did Bannon speak again. It was well past midnight, and the stars shone high and remote. "What happened?" Locke told him, and Bannon nodded sympathetically. "It has been quite a night, hasn't it? For you especially. And yet—none so bad, in some ways, I guess." Locke considered that. "It might have been worse." he conceded. "Much worse." Bannon nodded. "He had his wish, then was spared farther pain. He lived to tell you that you were forgiven, and to receive pardon in return. As for the rest of it, in India they make a funeral pyre so that the soul may soar more freely, no longer confined by the body.
