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Fuller looked at Emilee, who sat cross-legged in the middle of Desolation Trace with her normally-happy, round face totally covered by her frequently-braided brown hair. She looked anything but happy, and the braids had been abandoned after she had tangled her hair in a brier bush earlier. She sat with her boot in her hand, shaking out a small stone that had found its way in through the little hole in the sole.

“I am beat!” Emilee did not even look up. “I don’t even know what day it is! And I need new boots.”

 

“It’s Four and Three,” Corey replied. “And I don’t have any extra boots.”

 

Fuller felt tired, too. It had been only three days earlier that the Resistance had ambushed a Legionnaires caravan on the Gusiditall Bridge. Since then, they had not stopped.

 

“So it was only yesterday that we were putting the weapons in the abandoned tannery?” Emilee looked up at Corey, then Fuller.

 

“Sunset yesterday,” Replied Hanice.

 

“Come on Emilee.” Corey extended his had to her. “We’ll be on the Finarsi Vol Road soon. We can wait for the… whatever it is there.”

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Copyright 2018, 2019, 2020  —  Bill Snodgrass