Wix stood in the shade of a long, slanted awning. A steep slope of a hill extended below, rocky and sprouting with crabgrass and weeds. A switchback trail ran up the hill, carving a dirt path through the stones and brush.

It was midday, and the warmest day so far this year. Noticeably warmer than it had been two days ago. The day he'd been accosted by Dallon and his goons.

The bruises hadn't gone away. He doubted they would for a while yet. His right eye was big and bloated and purple, like an overripe fruit, fit to burst. He could barely see out of it.

Luckily, nothing seemed to be broken--unless you counted the back tooth Wix had spit out not two hours after the incident. Dallon's posse wasn't quite so tough and dangerous as they thought they were. He'd had worse beatings from Kedrik, after all. Minus the black eye and all.

Still, he carried a hunting knife with him, holstered at his belt.

Kedrik had been about as sympathetic as one could expect.

"Did you have your piece on you?" He had asked, knowing the answer. And that was all either of them had said about it.

Jenny's reaction had been markedly different. And not in the that Wix would have expected. At first, anyway.

She'd been red with rage. All the more dangerous and startling for the way that she controlled it. Internalizing her anger. Tempering it.

He was relieved when she didn't start a scene, right outside the church, where Wix had been waiting by the cart. He was relieved that she didn't interrogate him, get him to say who had done it. But then, she probably already knew. She just hadn't decided on what to do about it, yet.

Wix hoped she didn't do anything. Or rather, his feeling on it was that she'd already done enough.

Jenny had forbade him from leaving his bed. For an entire day. She and Kedrik hard argued about that extensively in the main room. Because of course Kedrik hadn't cared to give Wix's body time to heal. There was work to be done. And of course Jenny was being overprotective again--and at the same time, in some specific ways, not nearly protective enough.

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It was always that way. Jenny never failed to confront Kedrik after the fact, but that wasn't the same as making sure it wouldn't happen again. The same was true, here. Kedrik was too busy with the farm and his pet project with the crystal to do anything about it, if he had even wanted to. And whatever steps Jenny took, Wix had a hard time imagining there would be any beneficial results. What was she going to do? Go to the Sheriff? Complain? Threaten Mays?

Ridiculous.

He suddenly felt an uncomfortably waft of heat emanating from the open smithy door some ten-odd paces away. Kedrik was in there, with some smith named Sykes who claimed he could get Kedrik the results he wanted. Whatever those results were supposed to be. Didn't matter to Wix. Even though, somehow, he'd gotten sucked into helping Kedrik with it.

Actually, that wasn't quite true. Wix had wanted to come into town today. And he knew why. He was just procrastinating, at this point.

He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a folded letter. The paper was crumpled and creased, mostly from what he'd done to it when he'd finished reading it the day before.

For a moment, he just held it, looked at it.

There was no point in reading it again. No more answers to find. Just the one.

'No.'

His application to join the Federation had been rejected. As explicitly stated in this formal, hand-written letter, signed by Colonel Graylock himself.

Wix was not, "fit for duty", the letter claimed. Whatever that meant.

He wanted to toss the letter. Chuck it downhill, where it would be lost in the dirt and weeds. Or caught by the wind and carried away. Either way, he wanted to be rid of it.

But something stopped him.

He could get rid of it. But he shouldn't. Because the matter wasn't done with. Not yet.

He carefully put the letter away. He turned, facing where Kedrik had tied the horses.

That was what Kedrik had left him to do. 'Watch the horses'. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Of course, he knew what it meant. Don't go anywhere.

Ah, well.

He'd smirked after seeing Wix's reaction to the letter. Kedrik had. He liked that Wix was trapped. Under his control.

But was he, really? Wix could leave at any time. He could make his own way. Do what needed to be done. If he really wanted to.

The question was, did he want to?

For a long time he stared at the horses, thinking. Perhaps too long. Then he stomped over in the direction of the horses, adjusting his hat as he stepped out from under the shade. He unhooked Willow from the cart. He mounted her bareback, pulled his bandanna up over his mouth and nose, and took off down the switchback.