Thirty-Three
As the shadows of afternoon grew long, deepening toward sunset,
Michael began the final preparations. Trying to suppress his own
anxiety, he saddled the horse slowly and with care. He stroked its
flanks, checked its limbs and hooves, all the while speaking softly
and steadily. For this animal must not only carry them a considerable
distance, but be silent and disciplined when they arrived.
It was a good mount, he reassured himself, sturdy and well trained.
Whatever its master's faults, he had clearly loved and cared for his
horse.
With a sudden pang of sorrow and exhaustion, he remembered who that
man had been, and to what end he had come. The unfairness of life, the
endless cruelty.....
No. He could not give in. Whatever happened this night, to himself and
the ones he loved, rested squarely on his shoulders. He must act. He
must find a way.
As he finished, and led the mare toward the hut, Stephen stepped out
of it. "You're coming?" Michael asked him, as calmly as he could.
"Nothing has changed," replied Purceville stiffly.
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