They'd been riding for several hours now and Rynan hadn't said a word, which was peculiar; normally never keeping his trap shut. Maybe he was taking being an adult seriously?
Leslie listened to the wind, the squeak of the wagon, and the beat of the hooves for a bit longer. Only until she could no longer bear not hearing his voice. "Is something troubling you, Rynan?"
The boy shrugged, tugging on the reins, guiding the horse's around the next bend.
"You can tell me ..."
"You'll just get upset." He gazed blankly, staring at the thicket of trees that appeared at the base of the mountain.
"Tell me." Leslie leaned an elbow on her knee. "I'll always be here to listen."
Rynan pushed air through his lips and made them flap. "It's about Pa ... I've been having nightmares about him." His eyes shifted towards the bruises on her neck then quickly turned away. "He's been haunting me for what I did."
Leslie squeezed his shoulder, "what you did is what you had to do. I've told you a thousand times, you don't need to apologize for justice."
"And Kenneth?"
The name was as much a punch to her gut as Pa's was. Leslie squirmed, turning her eyes towards the eastern horizon, where the Prairie Hum rested, hoping the gods of the prairie would give her the right words to say.
"I was the Sheriff of Sundown City. And as Sheriff, I says you did the world a justice."
Rynan nodded, brows furrowed, lips sunk. "I felt I was doing the right thing, but them nightmares tell me otherwise. I see their faces — not alive — but pale, dead faces." He shivered. "They tell me I'm going to pay for what I did ... And I believe them."
Leslie rubbed her neck gently, closing her eyes. "Well, if I condone it, I guess we Turnbuckles will pay for it together."
The rest of the ride up the mountain was a quiet one, giving Leslie time to reflect on that day. The day Rynan became more than just her brother, but her protector. Helping her in more ways than she'd ever thought possible.
As much as she wanted, Leslie could never speak of the nightmares that haunted her dreams. At times, so strong and terrifying they'd visit her during the day, or at least used to before she'd stepped into that Duelring, and parted ways with the bandana that hid her scars. She found her courage there; and Jostice gave her the peace she yearned for. But for how long? she often thought.
Boone's stoned cottage came into view. Smoke floated towards the sky while the smell of fresh pine bit at their noses. There was something odd about it; the once beautiful gardens that Ma Jean and Jerocobish tended to were now patches of dark soil. And the candlelight sitting in the window, dancing with the wind, removed. Even the smell of stew that greeted travelers didn't fill the air. And though it seemed occupied, the cottage felt empty of warmth.
The door squeaked open and a man stood watching with narrow eyes. Arms crossed while a blackish-red feather protruded from his head. He stepped outside, hunched, like there was a pack on both shoulders hidden beneath his hide shirt.
"Is that you, Turnbuckles?" His voice sounded sure.
Rynan pulled the wagon to a halt.
Leslie waved a hand, squinting, the sun in her eyes. "Sorry for our coming unannounced." From the bench, she leaped, boots hammered against the soil. "But I'm concerned about my brother's health."
"It's not that damn scar again, is it?" His words cut like a Tomahawk. "I've already told ya several times that it'd appear that way."
Rynan walked over to the horses, patting them gently, trying to conceal himself though his large body made that near impossible. The last time they'd come he told Leslie of his fear of Krigun. "He's like a hawk ... always watching ... always listening." The boy said, swallowing while his eyes near bulged from his head. Leslie laughed and tried to shrug it off, but she felt much the same.
"There's something new I want to show you. Please. We've traveled far to seek your wisdom."
Krigun's hands were hidden in his thick, pelted sleeves. He removed one, waved, then disappeared inside.
Leslie turned to Rynan and after several waves and stomps the boy finally came out from behind the horses, thumbs twiddling, and head down like a scolded dog.
"Remember," Leslie said. "You're growing into a man now. It's time you show them that."
The boy nodded slowly, seeming as though the courage he had on the way up hand vanquished.
Inside the cottage, was no longer the cozy home of the Rigger's, but the home of skinners: pelts and furs were stacked everywhere while carcasses of animals hung, cleaned, and ready to be sold and cooked. The only thing she recognized was the table where they sat, once a place for bowls of soup, now a shelf for knives and guns.
"Love what you've done with the place," Rynan said, sitting at the table. Eyes shifting wildly. Face twisted with uncertainty. "And it smells—" he coughed, waving a hand. "What is that stink?" Suddenly he sat up, adjusting his collar. "I mean, what is that fine aroma?"
Leslie couldn't help but giggle.
"Dead things ... Now, remove your shirt."
Rynan nodded. He struggled to unbutton his shirt, eventually giving up, and tearing it from his chest like some wild animal. Maybe he thought that would impress the man? It did no such thing.
Leslie shook her head and giggled once more.
"Does this seem funny to you?" Krigun asked, eyeing the black hole. Leslie tightened her lips. The red flesh around the wound twitched like a spasm, and the boy shifted uneasily. "Have you been experiencing nightmares lately?"
Rynan looked at Leslie as if the man had read his mind. He nodded, tongue-tied.
The man sighed, "just as I feared ... there's a parasite living beneath your skin. I'll have to do a proper examination, but if I had to guess, I believe it's a leecher."
Leslie brought a hand to her lips, uncertain what that truly meant. "And you can remove it, right?"
"That's the problem. If the leecher dies, the host dies too." He gave the boy a deep gaze. "You and this creature are now conjoined for life."