“I’m sorry—” Her fingers twist in her lap and they’re coated in thick, sticky red smears. “Not your fault.” If I hadn’t spent so long splitting wood trying to get my head on straight, I would have been there. “There’s at least three of them hurt that I could see.” We bump over ridges in the track as I steer us towards the paddock. It’s almost dark now, the headlights bouncing over the fence below us in the dwindling light. “You did the right thing coming to get me.” My fingers tighten on the wheel.
