"The Pyre"

We're still following the Hanging Man's trail. If we are to be foolish, then let us be foolish in service of something good. Let us stop this madmen before he kills more.

Unfortunately, we were too late. We came across a tree, its bark black and white, and on it there were bodies hung. I recognized the handiwork. Our friend the Hanging Man had been here and left us these abominable gifts.

We were not the first ones to find them, however. An older woman, probably around fifty, had climbed the tree and was cutting down the bodies when we spotted it. We saw her horse and we waited behind the nearby brush. We watched, our eyes suspicious, our minds tainted with recent events, as she cut all the bodies down and started gathering up firewood.

And I realized: she was making a pyre. A pyre for the dead.

Blair realized this too and they asked me to cover for them, then they walked out and started talking with the woman. I held my Mauser up and prayed that the woman was what she seemed, prayed that it wouldn't turn out like before.

Eventually, I realized they were praying over the bodies. So I stood up and walked over to them and waited. When they were finished, we all took a step back and the woman lit a match and set the pyre aflame. The smell of wood and burning flesh filled our nostrils, but none of us looked away.

We set up camp not far from the woman, whose name was Clara. I'm not going to lie, there is a comfort in being close to someone near my own age (though I am older than her by at least a decade).

I caught Blair feeding Clara's horse a few moments ago. He was supposed to be sleeping, but I couldn't chide him. It is a very nice horse and I've seen a quite a few.

Finally, after Blair went to sleep, I saw Clara walk over to our campsite.

"I don't mean to be a bother," she said. "Just doesn't make much sense, having two campsites so close."

"No bother," I said. "We've just had...bad experiences."

Clara looked at me and said, "So have I. It tends to make you see everybody in a certain light."

"Yes," I said. "Everyone becomes an enemy. Every noise is a person sneaking up on you, every time you go to sleep another chance for someone to kill you."

We sat there in silence for a bit, listening to Blair sleep and the horse gently graze. "Not everyone is an enemy," she said. "I wish I could say you could trust me, but the truth is I barely trust you. But if you're chasing the one that strung up those bodies, then I will gladly trust you."

"Oh, we're chasing him," I said. "And when we find him, I will put a bullet between his eyes. But can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"If I miss, you have to kill him. Don't make Blair do it alone."

"I promise."