His body is too quiet. He was never like this in life.
She remembers the blood pooling out of his wound. Red and black and clotted. Remembers the smell of the tent, the sweat and the stench of it. The fear.
And the guilt.
She still feels that. It tugs at her heart and her head sometimes and reminds her that she foolishly broke his horse in before he had a chance. She rode him first, and he had run like the wind... had gotten used to her diminutive size.
Terrance.
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