He rode hard and did not camp until late. He deliberately sought out high ground and lit his campfire. Stacking it up with piles of tinder dry wood, he hobbled his horse and made himself comfortable amongst the rocks. He was tired of pursuing them. The time for action was well overdue. His hope was that they’d come for him, in the dead of night. But they did not, and he spent most of his time squashed up, cold, miserable so that when the sun lit up the new day, his body ached as if it had been pressed through a grain mill.
Rations low, he set out again with his stomach empty, its rumbling louder than the distant thunder which sounded amongst the faraway mountains. He turned his face towards them and wished, with all he had, that he was there amongst them, battling against the elements bec
