Crierwriter
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The strangest thing happened when I stood on those gallows. There from the west came the steady incoming trot of horses and warning shots firing off into the sky. With them was a familiar face you hadn’t seen in years.
Arthur Morgan.
After all these years between us, the vast miles and all the things we've done. He still remembered me, sprinting through wild-flower meadows in a vibrant skirt. And I remembered him, blue-eyed, grinning and flushed beneath the sun. The deer ran from us as we disturbed the grass, kicking the rocks and baring teeth as if we were the only things in the world to be feared.
With what came next, perhaps it would’ve been easier if I’d just been hung that cold December day.