But give me the first chance to bring her back alive. Grey Talon studied him a long, terrible moment, then nodded once. Sharp, a father handing over the one thing he had, left to lose to a man he'd known for barely more than a week. Bring her home, Waterheart. I intend to.
The trail led south, then west, into rougher country than Wade had ever bothered exploring in five years of calling this desert home. Wolfrunner read the ground like other men read a newspaper, calling out details Wade would have missed entirely. Six horses, one rider heavier than the rest. A pace that suggested urgency but not panic. Men confident enough in their head start not to rush.
They rode hard through the worst of the midday heat and didn't stop. canteens going empty faster than any of them liked because stopping meant losing daylight and losing daylight meant one more night autumn sky spent in whatever Reed had planned for her. Wade's mind kept circling back unbidden to the worst version of that plan. The one where he arrived c too late. The one where this ended exactly the way that morning five years back had ended. Smoke and silence and a fence post waving nothing but grief at him.
He shoved the thought down every time it surfaced. because thinking it made it more possible. Some old superstitious corner of his brain insisted, even though the rational part of him knew better, except knowing better didn't stop the thought from circling right back around anyway, patient as a buzzard. An hour later, by late afternoon, Wolfrunner called a halt at a ridge overlooking a shallow canyon, and there below them sat what could only be described as a fort in progress, half-built timber walls, canvas tents, a scatter of wagons loaded with supplies that had no business being that far from any proper settlement. Reed's operation bigger than Wade had expected, more organized than a handful of mercenaries chasing water rights, had any right to be there, Wolfrunner murmured, pointing to a tent set apart from the rest. Better built, a guard posted at either side.
If she is here, that is where they waited for dark. They Wade had learned patience the hard way. Five years alone, a desert that punished impulsive men harshly, and rewarded careful ones, just often enough to keep them trying. He drew on every scrap of that patience, now watching the camp below settle into its evening routine, counting guards, marking patterns, waiting for the one gap in the watch that three men moving quiet enough might slip through. Broken Blade lay flat beside him the whole while, utterly still.
The kind of stillness Wade suspected took years of hard practice to master. You are shaking, he observed quiet, without judgment. Cold, Wade lied. It is not cold. Broken blade didn't press further.