"My name is Aela." "I don't care." "You should because I need your help." Ethan laughed, sharp and bitter. "Then you came to the wrong man." "I don't think so." She moved closer, and he saw something in her eyes. Desperation, maybe, or determination. Hard to tell the difference. "You fight like a soldier.
You move like someone who's seen war. And you helped me when you didn't have to." "That was a mistake." "No, it was a choice, and now I'm making one." She stopped a few feet away, her voice steady. "My people are dying." "Not from bullets or disease, from time." "We are too few." "The men who remain are old or broken." "If we do not bring new blood, we will vanish." Ethan stared at her. "What's that got to do with me?" "I want you to father my child." The words hung in the air like smoke. Ethan blinked.
Then he laughed again, harder this time, shaking his head. "You're crazy." "I am desperate." Aela said. "There is a difference." "Find someone else." "There is no one else. The men in town would use me and kill me. The soldiers would do worse." "You are different." "You don't know a damn thing about me." "I know you are alone." "I know you carry grief like a stone." "I know you want to be forgotten." She took another step.
"But you cannot bury what you are. You are a protector, a warrior. That is why I came to you." Ethan turned away, his jaw tight. "Get off my land." "I will stay here for 90 days." Aela said, her voice calm. "You will teach me to survive what is coming.
In return, I will give you what every man wants, a legacy." "Something that outlasts you." "I don't want a legacy." "Then you are a coward." Ethan spun around, anger flashing in his eyes. "You don't get to walk onto my land and You helped me because you could not stand by and watch me die." Aela interrupted. "That same instinct will get you killed. So teach me. Teach me to fight, to shoot, to survive." "And when the 90 days are done, I will leave.
You will never see me again." Ethan stared at her for a long moment. Then he said, "You're asking for a war." "The war is already here. You just haven't admitted it yet." She was right. Three days later, Colonel Vance came calling. Ethan was repairing the barn door when he heard the horses.
Six riders moving slow and deliberate across the valley. He recognized the man in front, tall, gray-haired, with a face like carved stone. Colonel Thaddeus Vance, former Union officer, current commander of the Arizona Territorial Militia, and a man Ethan had spent five years avoiding. Vance reined his horse to a stop 20 feet from the barn. His men fanned out behind him, hands resting on their weapons.
"Ethan Cross?" Vance said, his voice smooth and cold. "It's been a long time." Ethan set down his hammer. "Not long enough." Vance smiled. "Still carrying that chip on your shoulder, I see." "Can't say I blame you. Losing your family the way you did, tragic, truly tragic.
Ethan's hands curled into fists, but he said nothing. I hear you've been making friends, Vance continued, defending savages in the street. Interesting choice for a man trying to disappear. She wasn't doing anything wrong. She's Apache.
That's wrong enough. Vance leaned forward in his saddle. Here's the situation, Cross. That woman is a problem. Her people have been raiding supply lines, killing good men.
I've been authorized to deal with the threat permanently. She's one person. She's a symbol, and symbols are dangerous. Vance's smile faded. I'm giving you a courtesy out of respect for what you used to be.