Against the wide dark blue sky of frosty night, the wind swept clouds swiftly across the night. The dark shadow of Horse stirred for a moment For the thousandth time the Boy thought now might be the time to leave. He did not hear the voice of Sergeant Presley. Maybe I have gone too far down a road I should’ve never traveled. Maybe the voice of Sergeant Presley has finished with me. Maybe I have gone too far. The fire was low and the Boy saw the Rock Star, mouth open, staring into the glowing embers. For a while he lay still, but his weak side was stiff and cold. How much of the night was left? He drank cold water from his bag and limped over to the fire to warm his cursed weak side. All around, the hunters slept. The Boy knew two or three were watching him, watching with the poison on nearby and ready arrows.
