Granger took in deep painful breaths. His sweat rolled down over his body, causing even more pain as it moved into the open gashes that littered his body.
He had been bound to the gallows post by his hands tied together over his head. His shirt was removed, and his back received every crack of the whip for the first thirty lashes. The flesh had torn until the bone was exposed.
So much of his blood had soaked the ground beneath him that when they turned him to receive the other twenty lashes on his chest, the guard slipped and fell.
Granger felt tired, weak.
There were only two lashes left.
Every crack of the whip had cut him, bled him, burned against his flesh. Yet, he had still managed to keep his mind clear enough to search for her. To look into the crowd at every chance he got.
Crack!
Granger cried out. He was amazed he still could.
One lash left.
He thought of her. Of the times they had shared. Picnics in the snow. Moonlight walks.
Crack!
