Much farther down the road, Cutter rides on a horse stolen from Coll’s stable. His chest is filled with ashes, his heart a cold stone buried deep. He drew a breath, sometime earlier that day, filled with love. And then released it, black with grief. Both seem to be gone now, vanished within him, perhaps never to return. And yet, hovering there before his mind’s eye, he sees a woman. Ghostly, wrapped in black, dark eyes fixed upon his own. Not this path, my love. He shakes his head at her words. Shakes his head. Not my path, my love. But he rides on. I will give you my breath, my love. To hold.
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