บท 118: Chapter 118

I borrowed Andre’s rifle and set out on the fugitive’s trail. He was making good time, not running but going at a steady lope. There was no sign of him on the horizon, but there were enough small hills and vales to give cover.

Two miles before reaching the badlands, the man’s gait changed. It was more uncertain, less steady. Any warrior worth the name could run the day through if he paced himself. This man was weak. He’d been out here for a fortnight. There was plenty to drink, the Tricking Water ran through the badlands, but game was likely scarce. The fugitive was hungry, on foot, and being hunted by men who wanted to kill him.