She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. ‘I’ve never before made love at pistol point. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. E.
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