In two days’ time, Dr. Love had packed up his belongings and prepared a carriage for his departure. A small crowd gathered to see him off in front of his clinic. He mounted the seat of the carriage and had just drawn the crop when he heard someone call to him.

“Doctor!”

It was an elderly voice, worn rough and dry by years of use. He recognized it; it was Ms. Haggan, a widow who had lost her husband before they were able to have children. She was a regular patient of Love’s, and he’d gotten to know her quite well over her many visits over her bad back. She’d told him in private, once, how long it had taken her to accept that she would die with a name that wasn’t hers, and no children to take it on.

“Where ‘re you fixing to go once you leave?” She asked, standing beside the carriage.

It took Love a moment to realize that this was the last time he’d see her. “The cities always need doctors, I might even go back to school and get another degree,” he replied. Something was burning on his mind. “Say, you're looking quite spritely today, are you excited to see me off?” He smiled a little wider than he needed to, for her sake.

The senior blushed and smiled sweetly in kind.

“Me? Oh, well, that must just be that new water our Sheriff gave me; my bones are feeling better already, and it's only been a day!”

The smile sapped from Love's face before it returned just as quickly.

“That's great,” he laughed breathily. “Well, I hope you all have a great time with… that.” His voice was cheerful, but a stinging bitterness undercut his words.

Weeks passed, Gallow continued to trial the water's properties by curing the people's ailments. A small building near the usually empty town jail was retrofitted into a sheriff's office, where he quickly set up what little he had. He took up sleeping in the office, with not but a mattress and blanket gifted to him by Gabriel. By the time a month had elapsed, he was soundly comfortable in the safety of the quiet town.

At first, three people came in a day, some citizens of advanced age, and he supplied them with what water he had with him. Two days later, it was five more, then six more, and suddenly, he was out of Springwater.

Gallow sat back, looking at the empty canteens on his desk, and grinned eagerly. He was all out, but it was a good problem to have when the supply was possibly infinite.

His boots touched the dark, earthy tones of green that cascaded over the hills and plains of the Garden. He’d arrived at the same point he and Janna had on their first visit, right by the bountiful Spring, which poured out into a large pond. At the banks of the Spring, he knelt down with his canteens and dunked them in, one by one, until they were filled to capacity.

“Hm?”

A few feet away from him at the bank were some impressions left in the mud. They looked too round and deep to be from the natural waves. Gallow looked around, but there was nobody nearby. Figuring that it may have been some animal he wasn’t aware of, he stood back up, hand over his holster, and looked for the exit point.

The Springwater continued to grow in popularity, and soon enough, he anticipated word to get to other towns.

---

“Alright, Mayor,” Gallow sat opposite Mayor Junda in the town hall office, surrounded by stacks of records and papers from decades of history. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”

The mayor leaned forward, turning his head ever so slightly to focus one eye closer to Gallow, who was speaking with his hands as much as his mouth.

“You’ve heard of the trial that I’ve been running for Sigrit, you said as much…”

Junda nodded.

“Well,” Gallow held him in suspense. “I think I’m ready to take it to the next level. I want to start selling the miracle water.”

Junda’s eyes widened. “Fat did you have in mind for your starting price?”

“A dollar thirty.”

“Hoo!” Junda couldn’t help but laugh. “For how much water?”

Gallow rapped his fingers on the desk. “Eight ounces.”

Junda looked down for a moment, doing the calculations in his mind. “That’s-” he cut himself off with a laugh. “That’s quite a lot of revenue you’re looking at.”

“Well, it cures any illness, any injury, anything you want,” Gallow proclaimed, rather blase.

“You think we could sell it outside of town?”

Gallow held up his hand. “Of course, but, remember, this is a joint partnership. We will sell to other places in the region, but on the condition that I get fifty one percent of the profits.”

Junda lowered an eyebrow; he wasn’t opposed to sharing the money, but he was still confused. “Why fifty one?”

“Because,” Gallow held a shrug. “I’m the only one who can get it for you.”

---

The next day, Gallow landed in the Garden once more to collect some more water. Stopping again at the bank, he filled up all of his canteens.

“I’m gonna need something bigger to store all of this,” he thought, until something caught his eye again. It was the same prints in the mud, the ones that looked like shoes, except near them were unmistakable imprints of someone’s feet.

Panic stabbed his heart, and he stood up with a start, pulling out his pistol, surveying the clearing for any signs of life.

“There!”

Something was there that didn’t fit in; the barrel of his gun snapped to attention. Right there, trained down his sights was-

“W-what?”

Under the shade of a great oak tree, some fifteen feet away, Janna lay sleeping in the grass. Gallow lowered his pistol limply and approached her slowly, unable to surmise how she’d entered the Garden.

As he drew near, he noticed that she had a large textbook open across her stomach, like she’d been reading when she fell asleep, and had let it lazily fall forward onto her.

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For a moment, Gallow considered whether or not he should wake her, but decided against it. There was something about how peaceful she looked here that he didn’t feel right to disturb. It had been a long time since he’d seen a child who looked happy or content, and it was a feeling he envied, he wanted it back.

He planted his boot in the grass and looked away. Something felt wrong; not that there was danger, but this deep sense that he couldn’t continue like this, not in this place.

“How did she get here, anyway?” he wondered.

A splashing sound to his right caught his attention. It was the Spirit, standing in all of her gentle splendor above the Spring. She said nothing, but gave him a knowing smile, and he felt that his question had been answered.

The instant between the Garden and the outside world was a long time and place, and as he stepped out of the lush dimension, he realized that that was the first time he’d seen the Spirit since his first visit.

---

One morning, bright and early, Gallow awoke from his slumber to the sound of a knock at his door.

“Just a minute!” he called, quickly throwing his clothes on.

Swinging open the door, he was greeted by Janna, clothed in a burgundy dress with a white bonnet atop her head. In her hands was a small basket covered by a cloth.

“G'morning, eh, Janna, was it? Feel free to come in.” Gallow’s words were a little stilted and awkward. As a child, he’d rarely spoken to others around his age, and even now was unused to it.

“Thank you, Mr. Sheriff,” she said with a sweet lilt. “But I was just here to drop this off.” she held up the basket, presenting it to him. Gallow took it by the handle and pulled the cloth off to look inside.

“Oh.” It was a surprised, heartfelt, and quiet reaction. “Thank you…”

As soon as he removed the cloth, the smell of freshly baked bread wafted up to his nose, something he hadn’t smelled in a while.

“It’s no problem, mister,” Janna shuffled her feet, embarrassed but happy that her gift was being received well. “I learned how to bake recently, and my dad told me I should make something for you.”

Gallow turned his attention from the basket to her. “Well, thanks, I appreciate it. Thank you, thank you…” A warm, soft feeling brushed against his heart, and he didn’t know how to show his appreciation other than repeating himself.

Their moment was abruptly cut off by a call from his right.

“Sheriff! Sheriff Gallow!”

He turned his attention to Peter Froemig, a middle aged father whom Gallow had administered some miracle water a week earlier to for his fever.

“Mr. Froemig? Is something up?” Gallow wondered aloud as he caught up to them.

“It’s- it’s,” he panted, one hand on his knee. “Someone from the military is here! I think we’re in trouble! You know what they've been doing to the towns out here, don’t ya’?”

“H-hey look, calm down, mister,” Gallow spread his arms in a peaceful display. “It’ll be alright, I’ll take care of it.” Even while he tried to comfort Mr. Froemig, Gallow felt the same uneasy stirring in his stomach, but it would have to be dealt with.

“Where is he, Pete?”

“I saw his horse coming from the east end of town, him and a guide.”

Peter pointed down the way he had come, and as Gallow’s eyes followed his finger, he spotted a horse less than thirty feet away. Atop it rode a man in a blue uniform, speckled down the center with silver buttons. The black bill of his blue cap obscured his eyes. Next to him, also on horseback, was a guide who was shrouded in a brown hood; he couldn't make out either of their faces at this distance, and the sunlight that bounced off the ground made it even more difficult.

Gallow stepped out towards the soldier, walking only a few steps before seeing him dismount. Upon hitting the ground, the man in uniform snapped his head upward. Both men watched each other for a long time, unable to believe who they were looking at. Gallow's heart nearly stopped, then hardened to stone.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

A hand reached for the hip.

Another followed in lock step.

In less than a second, the soldier had easily traveled ten feet, his saber unsheathed, now impaling the air where Gallow had been a moment before. Gallow himself was now three feet to the left of the swordsman, resting a gun barrel against his head.

The soldier had an olive complexion and short, dark hair which had only grown out a little past military guidelines. His jaw sloped to a strong chin, adorned with a little stubble. His eyes would have been a brilliant green color, but in this light, and with this intent, they were dark and heavy.

“Good one,” he said; his voice had a low timbre, strong and well-wielded, almost gravelly.

From where Gallow stood, he was able to look at him head-on, whereas the soldier had to catch a glimpse out of his periphery. “The windpipe is your favorite kill-point, you're predictable.”

“So, are you gonna shoot me, or what, rat?”

Gallow’s face tensed, and the tendons of his fingers did the same. The very tip of his index pointer quivered as the midsection met the steel of the trigger. Behind them, Janna cupped her face with her hands in fear. She had never seen someone die.

He flicked the barrel up, knocking the cap right off of the soldier’s head. It fell to the ground with a ‘puff’ sound as it scraped at the dirt. A wry smile crossed Gallow's face.

“Do you think you're funny?” the soldier whispered.

“Yeah.”

The soldier dropped his saber to the ground, sighing. Gallow followed, holstering his pistol and formally ending their altercation.

As the adrenaline wore off, Gallow remembered Janna and Peter were still at his front door. With a quick glance, he saw that they were frozen in terror at what was almost a public murder. Immediately, he loosened his posture and put on a smile, laughing with an unconvincing amount of force.

“Oh-ho-ho, you guys, this is just my old, ehm, friend, Gideon! Gideon Jepta!”

Peter walked away without a second thought, leaving Janna by herself at the door. Still shaking off her shock, she lowered her hands and darted her eyes around the street, where no one else dared to walk around. Steadily, she took a few steps in approach.

“Sheriff Gallow…? Y-you know this man?” she asked, hands trembling.

Gideon almost fell over. “Sheriff?!” he cried.

Gallow looked at him with a shaky smile. “Y-yeah,” he threw in a nervous chuckle. “A lot went down.”

Gideon regained his composure, flushing away all of the warmth that may have been in his face. “Look,” he began speaking with authority. “I didn't expect to find you out, but I’ll let this slide for now. I don't want to get a military tribunal all the way out here in the wastes, alright?”

Gallow looked quite pleased with that. “Oh, great. Well, I'd love to let you get back-”

“So, after I finish my job here, I’ll be taking you back by force.”

Any hint of playfulness had left Gallow’s expression. Janna studied his expression carefully. How could he, who had just faced down armed opponents and men with supernatural abilities, now be quaking in the face of someone he’d beaten squarely?

“You can't do that, Gideon,” a frantic energy lay under Gallow’s voice. “Look, I've got a good thing going here; I'm really making something out of myself in this town, I mean, I'm the Sheriff, right? Wasn't that the idea behind the Redeemer Law?”

Janna felt she had walked in on something much more complicated than she’d bargained for.

“You have a count of desertion on your record,” Gideon fired back. “I don't care what crappy job you got in this dust bin, you’re wanted for treason!” He spoke like a parent scolding their child.

Gallow held his hands up. “No- no, you can’t! If you take me back, this time they’ll hang me for real! You can’t give me any leeway here? Come on, it’s like I’m on parole!”

Gideon picked up his sword and returned it to its sheath. “You know, I don't want to force you to come back with me, but you should also know, even though this distance is too close to hit your windpipe.” His fingers moved with lightning speed to a space on Gallow’s abdomen. “I’ve been practicing hitting a new kill-point on the superior mesenteric, right here.”

“That's enough.” A woman's voice rang from behind both of them. Gideon’s guide had leapt from her horse, light moccasins hitting the ground. Her hood obscured her face as she took long strides toward them.

“Captain Jepta, this is the one.” She removed her hood, revealing a face with the browned skin of a young native woman. She had a strong nose and long straight hair of a jet black color.

“What the hell?!” Gallow shouted; it was too much at once. “You too?! Dear Lord, is this a reunion?”