SixSimms rode out of town later that day in an attempt to clear is head. Inside, his stomach gurgled and rumbled as the many gallons of coffee he'd drunk slopped around. Forced to stop at one point, he screwed his face up before vomiting violently on the ground. He slithered down from the saddle, stumbled over to a small outcrop of rock and repeated evacuating his guts until his throat burned and the sweat rolled down his face. Gasping, he sat down, face in hands, giving himself time to recover.
The late afternoon sun was weak, the temperature already falling, and he broke into a prolonged bout of shivering. Pulling the collar of his thick coat around him, he waited, wishing he was somewhere else, wishing he could start again, go back, do everything differently. Would any of it have saved
