7He flickered open his eyes, taking a few seconds to focus himself on his surroundings. For a moment, he believed he was already dead and a cold terror seized him, a tiny moan trickling from his dry mouth. Through the large open doors, bodies were visible and they were dead, that much he could see. Sprawled out in the dust, the wind rustling through the dry, open ring of the corral, he ticked them off. Windrush, Joseph, the marshal, the stable-boy. A sudden stab of pain pierced his heart. The boy, who'd looked after him, tended his wounds. Nothing but a scrap. A child. Butchered by some lunatic. He put his head back against the stable wall and closed his eyes, trying to block it all out. But when he opened his eyes again, the truth remained. He sobbed.
Later, he managed to find water in a
