Chapter 5: Small Town, Big Trouble

After drinking the medicine, Marcus comforted me instead: "It’s okay, I’ll definitely get better by winter."

He had no eyes and couldn’t see his own pale face.

He didn’t know how unconvincing he looked when he lied.

No one could be fooled.

I didn’t call him out, just helped him change his bandages and told him to stay at home.

The person on the bed nodded hard, but in the wrong direction: "Okay, I can take care of myself."

There were more people in town.

Just walking a few steps, you could hear gossip everywhere.

I strolled past the post office and the old diner. Inside the diner, the waitress poured burnt coffee into chipped mugs, and the old-timers huddled over their hash browns, voices low. Small towns thrived on rumors like these.

"I heard something happened out west?"

"Yeah, a huge mess."

"Someone said a big shot fell, and the others who came down are all here to look for him."

"They’re rushing to put out a wanted notice, offering fifty grand."

"That much?"

I quickened my pace, hurriedly bought the medicine, and rushed home.

As it turned out, Marcus, blinded, couldn’t take care of himself.

When I got back, he was fumbling at the stove, trying to light a fire. He’d managed to get flour everywhere—looked like a blizzard hit the kitchen.

His sleeves were dirty, and even his handsome face was smudged with ash.

I almost laughed, so I brought a basin of water to wipe his face and wash his hands.

After being cared for a while, Marcus wasn’t so thin anymore.

But when he gripped my hand tightly, there was still no flesh.

His fingertips were icy cold.

The sickness in his body probably hadn’t healed yet.

He coughed twice to cover up his unease: "I wanted to cook something, but didn’t expect you back so soon."

"Did you get what you needed?"

My hand paused, and I answered irrelevantly: "Marcus, let’s move."

"Why move?"

I didn’t mention those suspicious people outside town.

Nor did I mention the rumors in the city.

I just quietly packed up: "Because the grass here, the old brown cow is tired of eating it. It wants a change of taste."

Can’t have her holding a grudge, right?

The old cow mooed outside the door.

"Blaming me again."

I took the most valuable things from the ranch house and headed north.

—An exiled man, an old cow, and a rusty broken sword.

Crossing several hills, there lived a legendary doctor.

He could cure anything.

The doctor’s name was Dr. Hawthorne. Folks whispered about him at the feed store, half in awe, half in suspicion. His ranch was three hours out, past the last gas station and into the wild scrubland.