She spun on him, her eyes blazing. "Do not touch me. Your hands are covered in the blood of my people." Elias recoiled. He let her go.
He stood there, broken, watching her walk to the door. "I will leave at first light." She said, her back to him. "Do not follow me." She sat on the porch all night, wrapped in her blanket, staring into the dark.
Elias sat inside, at the table, his head in his hands, watching the candle burn down until it sputtered and died, leaving him in the darkness he deserved. The dawn was gray and cold. The sky heavy with the threat of weather. The wind had picked up, carrying the taste of dust and electricity. Naya stood up from the porch swing.
She adjusted her bundle. She did not look back at the house. She walked down the steps and started walking west, toward the jagged line of the mountains. Elias watched her from the window. He wanted to run after her.
He wanted to beg, but he knew he had lost the right to ask her for anything. He had bought her safety, but he had sold her destruction years ago. He waited until she was a small, dark shape in the distance. Then he grabbed his coat and his hat. He went to the barn and saddled the bay.
He filled two canteens and tied them to the horn. He would not stop her, but he would not let her die alone. He rode out, keeping a mile between them. He watched her figure moving steadily through the sagebrush. She was walking toward the deep desert, toward the lands that were no longer hers, guided by grief and pride.
By noon, the sky had turned a sickly, bruised purple. The wind was no longer gusting. It was a constant, screaming force. The horizon disappeared, swallowed by a wall of brown rising from the earth, a haboob, a dust storm. Elias spurred his horse.
He saw Naya stop. She was staggering now. The heat was ferocious and the wind was pushing her back. She had no water. She had left in such a fury she had forgotten the most essential thing.
The wall of dust hit her before he could reach her. One moment she was there, and the next she was gone, swallowed by the swirling opacity. Elias pulled his bandana up over his nose. He kicked the bay into a gallop, riding blind into the choking cloud. "Naya!"
He shouted, but the wind tore the name from his lips. The grit stung his eyes like ground glass. The horse fought him, turning its rear to the wind, refusing to move. Elias jumped down, keeping a grip on the reins. He walked forward, squinting into the brown gloom.
He found her huddled near a cluster of mesquite, her knees drawn up to her chest, her head buried in her arms. She was coughing, her body racking with spasms. "Naya!" Elias grabbed her shoulder. She flinched violently and struck out at him, her fist connecting weakly with his chest.