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The way he’d looked down the hallway after them, face schooled to immobility, had reminded her more of a dog lost and wondering where its home had gone.
She’d flopped sideways in the chair, peering at him with her head tilted upside-down over the arm. The long column of her throat could not have been more exposed if she’d been on a chopping block.
Presumably it was the best that could be done with what resources were available. Just like we are.
The bandit hefted the money, glanced at each member of the group in turn, then leaned forward. With his lips barely moving, he murmured “I wouldn’t normally ask this, but are these men kidnapping you?”
Slate considered herself enlightened, but there were still times when she wanted to throw her hands in the air and scream, “Men!” and then stomp off and kick something.
It wore a cloak of woodpecker feathers that dazzled the eye with spots and stripes until the shape under them seemed to swim in the firelight.
If you know you’re going to die, you don’t have to be afraid of anything. The worst has already happened. What more can they do to you?
