This is also the very beginning of a longer story. This section constitues the part of the story where the main character is a child. I wrote the final scene in the Shaman's office today.
Steampunk.
David Down
Lucy ran down the street at full tilt, the concrete slapping against her worn shoes as she cried. She had been running at full speed for almost thirty minutes, crossing Kiowa city in what felt like a heartbeat. She soon reached her destination, the Public Office of Shaman John Gilbert Slowbull. Slowbull performed public works, brought local issues to the city council, and handled many other tasks. In Kiowa city, the government was very active in the lives of the public, and John Slowbull was the face of that activity in this district. Lucy, eyes red from crying, desired the most important service that Slowbull provided. She stopped suddenly outside his door, leaned herself up against the wall, and took three deep breaths. She tried her hardest to calm herself and look adult.
Lucy wiped the tears from her eyes and stepped inside. A wooden chime clinked as she opened the door. Slowbull's building was a long rectangle, with one long wall filled with slots containing a hundred different forms and applications. Across from them there were wooden tables and aluminum stools - places to sit while you filled out the forms. On the short end of the rectangle, through a half moon window, she could see Slowbull, talking to someone on the phone. She tried to stay quiet, so he wouldn't hear her. She walked along the wall, checking each form. The last form, at the corner of the room, was special, and it was exactly what Lucy was looking for. It was longer than the other forms, written on a larger sheet of paper. The text was handwritten, and the ink smelled of woodsmoke and something else she couldn't identify. The paper itself was pulpy, and rough. The application was handmade, every aspect of it. There were only three in the pile. She grabbed one, and took a quill, and walked over to one of the aluminum stools to fill it out. Just as she was about to ink the paper, she heard a voice from behind her.
"No! Put down that application. You don't have to fill it out. You can't go," Slowbull said, half out of his seat and leaning toward the window. He was a younger man, for a Shaman. He had soft features, and small eyes that were too close together. Like all Shamans Lucy had seen, his head was shaved, and he bore intricate tattoos across his scalp. He wore a dress shirt and slacks, his sleeves rolled up, but no tie.
She was startled, but she didn't care much about what Slowbull said. Determined, she turned back to her paper, and started to write her name. She spoke the letters aloud, "L - U - C - Y. Next line. M - I - N - E - R." She could hear Slowbull ending his phone conversation politely - must have been someone important - and heading for the door that separated them. She spoke louder, "Tribe name. F - A - W - N - comma - R - U - N - N - I - N - G."
Slowbull threw the door open, and walked stiffly towards her. He reached her, and held his hand out. "Give it to me. You are too young," his words were deliberate, each one holding emphasis, as if no part of the sentence was more important than any other. Lucy was nearly hysterical, and she snapped towards him.
She said, "My parents just died in the street, you bastard. I'm filing as a..." she struggled to remember the term, "...an independent. I qualify." Her words were shrieking, but she couldn't help it. Slowbull felt himself calm down.
"I'm sorry, Lucy. I..." he struggled to find the right words, "...your mother would not like for me to let you go."
"That may be true," she responded as she filled out the long application. "And if she were here, she'd stop me. But you have no right." Slowbull stood by and watched as Lucy filled out the Spirit Journey application.
~
Her eyes still red from crying, Lucy clutched the pouch close to her heart. As she left Kiowa city through a large, iron gate, she shuddered. She found the terrific size of the gate and its opening mechanism disturbing, and she always had. It whistled and shook as it expelled steam, the thick gate swinging open slowly, the gears alongside it grinding... It made an awful racket. She held her hands over her ears as the opening gate screeched to a halt, and walked forward. A guard moved to intercept her, his blastube relaxed in his grip. He wore heavy canvas robes, and a heavy hood obscured his face. It gave him a malevolent appearance, but she hadn't minded it for years - the guards were very kind to her. She presented the pass that Slowbull had created for her, and the guard stepped aside, puzzled.He called after her, "Good luck young lady! I wish you a safe return!" The stock farewell was a comfort to Lucy, who had watched many young people pass through the gates as she had grown up. She walked slowly through the three tiered metal gate, which created a tunnel that stretched ten paces before she could leave the city. The exposed machinery of its underside loomed over her, instilling her with a sense of dread she just couldn't shake, even hours after she had left the city behind her.
Outside the city the world was consumed by wilderness, and it was dangerous for any person to be out alone. Usually children weren't allowed to leave the city, by order of the city council, but for one exception: the Spirit Journey undertaken by some adolescents at the age of thirteen.
When they left, they were awarded certain objects that many cherished for the rest of their lives. Lucy was given these:
A knife. The knife that Slowbull gave Lucy was amazing. It's hilt was oak, and the wood was intricately carved with Kiowa city's skyline, and other patterns. The hand guard was small, a simple metal plate. The blade gleamed like silver, and had a phrase engraved into it: "Lucy Running-Fawn, Citizen." A knife has much utility in the wilderness, and Lucy received it for it's usefulness, and for what it represents: The wars of Kiowa's past and future.
A lens. The lens that Slowbull gave Lucy was an honor. Lenses were expensive in this part of the world, and the one that Lucy received was very nice. It was about two inches across, and was perfectly clear. A lens was able to help start fire in the wilderness, and Lucy was given it for this reason, and for what it represents: Kiowa's interest in the stars above.
A boiler. Traditions had changed little, but the inclusion of the boiler was certainly new. Made of iron and weighing over fifty pounds, the backpack sized boiler was fitted with straps for easy carrying. It was engraved with the stories of Kiowa city's great inventors, written beautifully in rings around the boiler's girth. It had a port on one side for applying power to a machine, and crank for power generation on the other. Its top was covered in numerous wheels and switches that controlled its various functions. It also had a bottom loading elevator where a heat source was placed. Slowbull had to explain each function in detail, because Lucy had never used one of the machines before. A boiler provides power and heat, and Lucy was given it for this reason, and for what it represents: The power generation of Kiowa city, which was famous amongst the cities of Native America.
A medicine bag. While all spirit journeyers received the same Knife, lens, and, in more recent times, boiler, each citizen's medicine bag was packed differently, based on the information provided in the application, and the shaman's personal knowledge of the Journeyer. Lucy did not know what her bag contained, as she was instructed not to open it until a specific moment in her journey. It was a satchel sized leather pouch, but it was very light. Most pouches contained herbs and medicines.
~
It had been almost an hour since Lucy could see the skyline of Kiowa city, and she was starting to get worried. The wilderness that surrounded her now was much scarier than she thought it would be, and she was starting to get spooked. Lucy had lived in the city her whole life, and was not used to the... organic noises that surrounded her. She heard many noises that she couldn't identify, and she started to slow down. She heard a howl play across the evening sky, and she stopped entirely... For the first time, she thought that she maybe wasn't cut out for this. She panicked.
"I was too young, Slowbull was right," she whispered to herself. It seemed as if the forest was closing in around her, and each noise and rustle made her jump. She started to breathe heavily and sweat. Suddenly the weight of her boiler seemed unbearable and she fell to the ground. When she landed on her hands and knees, her knife clinked against a stone. The sound reminded her of what she was supposed to do. With tears rolling down her cheeks she unslung the boiler and stood, defiant of the forest.
"I need to light a fire. I need to gather brush," she said to herself, suddenly determined. Then, she walked in a circle around it, keeping it in view, and gathered small sticks and leaves. Soon she had plenty, and moved back to the boiler. With only a few moments left before the earth consumed the sun, she piled the brush and attempted to light it with the lens. She tried desperately to get the fire going before nightfall, first by trying to reflect the waning light in the lens. The angle was wrong and no fire came. Next she tried to find a rock to strike her knife across, but was again unable. She watched, powerless, as the sun left her alone in the dark with no fire. She only had one option left, and she hated it.
The only thing that would keep her warm and safe through the night was the boiler she carried, and she had hoped not to use it. She didn't want to bring it at all, but Slowbull insisted it was a necessary part of the Journey. Lucy didn't share her people's love of steam power, and she did her best to avoid it. She had determined to complete the Spirit Journey without it, but she certainly appreciated Slowbull's insistent suggestion now. Sitting alone in the cold forest night, surrounded by trees, she began to turn the crank affixed to the side of the boiler, sparking the flint inside and heating up its contents. After a short time the boiler started to vibrate and heat up. She turned the second of the three tiny wheels attached to the top of the machine. It started to leak hot air from a vent on its side. She curled up next to this vent, and it kept her warm as she tried to sleep. She was still awake hours later, when the heat ran out and she needed to turn the crank again.
When the sun finally came up in the morning, she was already ready to move. She had the slowly cooling machine already on her back, and she had gathered up her other things. As soon as the sun was fully overhead, she started to wander. While the first day of the spirit journey is spent moving out of view of home, the second day is devoted to following your heart through the forest. She did, stepping lightly through the undergrowth and moving randomly. She started to reflect, thinking about her life so far. This was also customary for the second day.
She thought about growing up in Kiowa city- she thought about the war that her people fought when she was very young. During the war the streets were nearly empty, as all able bodies had gone to war. Her parents had gone. When the parents left, the children were given to the care of the elders who weren't fit to fight. She remembered being gathered with all the other children in the capitol, where she spent two years. Every child was raised by every elder, and they lived there, in the great hall. Lucy remembered very clearly the news of victory, and the return of her parents. It was terrifying to see the adults file into the hall, each wearing the heavy robes and hood of a soldier. It was the first time she had seen the uniform, though the sight of it became commonplace after the war. She wasn't sure what was happening. But soon every adult threw back their hoods and the children were filled with joy. Many adults had not returned, and their children continued to be raised by the elders.
She thought about that period of time as she got herself lost. She thought about the happiness of having her parents return, and for the first time she mourned for those that had not returned, and the loneliness of their children. She felt this fresh mourning deep in her chest, and it hurt. Was this how it felt to be an adult? Her memories advanced, and she remembered school. She started to jog, moving quickly through the dense wood.
She attended a different school every year, throughout her childhood. This was customary: the Kiowa felt that it was important to learn in blocks - learning math and numbers from a visiting Napolese scholar for months, then learning to write and speak from an emissary of the Cheyenne state. Her favorite had been when she had learned tradition from an Anasazi woman. The Anasazi had rejected steam power, and were very backward technologically. A friend who's father was a merchant had once told her that Anasazi City's wall was made of rough stone, and it's buildings were logs. Her friend had said that they could afford to do so, because Kiowa city stood between them and the Napolese colonies to the east. She had always understood this to be true. At the present she was learning to make war from an Apache man, and she wasn't enjoying it. But she was learning- she found it easy to move through the trees quickly, even with the machine strapped to her back. Thinking about her current schooling was a mistake- she remembered what she had been avoiding thinking about. Her parents.
As she thought of the present she started to run, sprinting and jumping over fallen logs and undergrowth. Evening was starting to approach again, and she hadn't eaten. That was okay; she had heard of many that didn't eat while lost in thought on the second day. But it was getting dark, and she was definitely tired. The boiler was weighing her down, and her legs started to feel heavy. As she was struck by fatigue, her memories flooded into her.
Lucy's parents had started to act strangely months ago, leaving the house before she woke up and staying out for days. They would talk in hushed tones, and restrict her to her room most nights. They hosted regular gatherings in their home, but she never got to leave her room and see what was happening. She tried once, on the first day, but her father was watching and waiting for her to try. He had yelled at her, shook her, and thrown her onto her bed. The next day they put a lock on her door.
She had been so angry, but couldn't do anything about it. After school they would lock her up, and leave her in her room. This went on for four days. On the fifth day, as she walked home from school, her muscles tired and aching, there was a commotion outside her house. She pushed her way through the crowd, and saw that her parents were tied in the center of it. Two guards stood over them. She had screamed and cried but they didn't listen; her parents were 'traitors' they told her. The guard raised their wicked blades, and she saw her parents killed, then and there, in the street outside her house. She ran straight from there to Shaman Slowbull's office.
Tears now rolled freely down her cheeks as she was forced to slow down by the dragging weight on her back. Overcome by fatigue and hunger, she started to collapse forward. She put a foot forward to keep her balance, but succeeded only in falling sideways instead. She cried out, hysterical with grief and unable to move or stand back up with the boiler on her back. She sobbed loudly for almost an hour as dusk covered the land.
Laying there, through tear soaked eyes, she caught a glimpse of something strange through the trees: The furthest trees were obscured, and as she looked more closely, she realized that it almost looked like smoke, lit red from beneath. Through great effort she unstrapped the boiler from her back and crawled forward. She was sobbing, and even without the heavy machine she could not stand. She could feel now more than ever how deep in the forest she was, and it was making her claustrophobic.
She struggled to crawl over the twisting and gnarled roots of a large tree, and she was blasted by heat as she did. Ahead of her, she was faced with an impossible sight: An immense thermal vent, a hole in the earth 20 yards across, with a small river pouring into it from the north. It glowed a warm red, and she welcomed it- there was no moon tonight, and the darkness had been complete. The constant steam pouring from it would be an incredible source of power. The first thing Lucy thought of was something she learned in school.
Kiowa city had been founded skirting a very large steam vent that had provided its power for almost fifty years. The vent was famous across the continent. A rock slide deep underground closed the vent at its source, and for two years the people attempted to compensate with other forms of energy. Their infrastructure, however, was deeply rooted in steam energy, and the people fell into poverty and starvation. In desperation, a council of shamans was called together to perform a ceremony that would bring back the steam. During this ceremony an earthquake that opened new vents all over the city occurred, dropping more than a dozen buildings into the earth. For the people of Kiowa city the devastation was worth it, and these new vents were quickly capped and exploited. The vents had been working for years. But even they had started to weaken...
She laughed, her voice cracking. She had set out in search of a spirit animal, something to inspire her. She had always expected a fawn, as her name suggested. She stared, bleary eyed, at the pit before her, and she saw much life in the steam that broiled from it. Here was her animal. She fumbled at the pouch at her waist and held it in front of her. She carefully untied its rope, and looked inside, the red glow from the vent providing illumination. The pouch contained dry, scented leaves and something metal that she couldn't exactly identify. She trembled with anticipation and delirium as she approached the vital moment of her journey. She was meant to present the medicine bag to her spirit animal, and it would give her instruction. That revelation would guide her life. She coughed lightly and rose to her knees slowly.
Then she let the bag tumble into the pit.
"I was too young, Slowbull was right," she whispered to herself. It seemed as if the forest was closing in around her, and each noise and rustle made her jump. She started to breathe heavily and sweat. Suddenly the weight of her boiler seemed unbearable and she fell to the ground. When she landed on her hands and knees, her knife clinked against a stone. The sound reminded her of what she was supposed to do. With tears rolling down her cheeks she unslung the boiler and stood, defiant of the forest.
"I need to light a fire. I need to gather brush," she said to herself, suddenly determined. Then, she walked in a circle around it, keeping it in view, and gathered small sticks and leaves. Soon she had plenty, and moved back to the boiler. With only a few moments left before the earth consumed the sun, she piled the brush and attempted to light it with the lens. She tried desperately to get the fire going before nightfall, first by trying to reflect the waning light in the lens. The angle was wrong and no fire came. Next she tried to find a rock to strike her knife across, but was again unable. She watched, powerless, as the sun left her alone in the dark with no fire. She only had one option left, and she hated it.
The only thing that would keep her warm and safe through the night was the boiler she carried, and she had hoped not to use it. She didn't want to bring it at all, but Slowbull insisted it was a necessary part of the Journey. Lucy didn't share her people's love of steam power, and she did her best to avoid it. She had determined to complete the Spirit Journey without it, but she certainly appreciated Slowbull's insistent suggestion now. Sitting alone in the cold forest night, surrounded by trees, she began to turn the crank affixed to the side of the boiler, sparking the flint inside and heating up its contents. After a short time the boiler started to vibrate and heat up. She turned the second of the three tiny wheels attached to the top of the machine. It started to leak hot air from a vent on its side. She curled up next to this vent, and it kept her warm as she tried to sleep. She was still awake hours later, when the heat ran out and she needed to turn the crank again.
When the sun finally came up in the morning, she was already ready to move. She had the slowly cooling machine already on her back, and she had gathered up her other things. As soon as the sun was fully overhead, she started to wander. While the first day of the spirit journey is spent moving out of view of home, the second day is devoted to following your heart through the forest. She did, stepping lightly through the undergrowth and moving randomly. She started to reflect, thinking about her life so far. This was also customary for the second day.
She thought about growing up in Kiowa city- she thought about the war that her people fought when she was very young. During the war the streets were nearly empty, as all able bodies had gone to war. Her parents had gone. When the parents left, the children were given to the care of the elders who weren't fit to fight. She remembered being gathered with all the other children in the capitol, where she spent two years. Every child was raised by every elder, and they lived there, in the great hall. Lucy remembered very clearly the news of victory, and the return of her parents. It was terrifying to see the adults file into the hall, each wearing the heavy robes and hood of a soldier. It was the first time she had seen the uniform, though the sight of it became commonplace after the war. She wasn't sure what was happening. But soon every adult threw back their hoods and the children were filled with joy. Many adults had not returned, and their children continued to be raised by the elders.
She thought about that period of time as she got herself lost. She thought about the happiness of having her parents return, and for the first time she mourned for those that had not returned, and the loneliness of their children. She felt this fresh mourning deep in her chest, and it hurt. Was this how it felt to be an adult? Her memories advanced, and she remembered school. She started to jog, moving quickly through the dense wood.
She attended a different school every year, throughout her childhood. This was customary: the Kiowa felt that it was important to learn in blocks - learning math and numbers from a visiting Napolese scholar for months, then learning to write and speak from an emissary of the Cheyenne state. Her favorite had been when she had learned tradition from an Anasazi woman. The Anasazi had rejected steam power, and were very backward technologically. A friend who's father was a merchant had once told her that Anasazi City's wall was made of rough stone, and it's buildings were logs. Her friend had said that they could afford to do so, because Kiowa city stood between them and the Napolese colonies to the east. She had always understood this to be true. At the present she was learning to make war from an Apache man, and she wasn't enjoying it. But she was learning- she found it easy to move through the trees quickly, even with the machine strapped to her back. Thinking about her current schooling was a mistake- she remembered what she had been avoiding thinking about. Her parents.
As she thought of the present she started to run, sprinting and jumping over fallen logs and undergrowth. Evening was starting to approach again, and she hadn't eaten. That was okay; she had heard of many that didn't eat while lost in thought on the second day. But it was getting dark, and she was definitely tired. The boiler was weighing her down, and her legs started to feel heavy. As she was struck by fatigue, her memories flooded into her.
Lucy's parents had started to act strangely months ago, leaving the house before she woke up and staying out for days. They would talk in hushed tones, and restrict her to her room most nights. They hosted regular gatherings in their home, but she never got to leave her room and see what was happening. She tried once, on the first day, but her father was watching and waiting for her to try. He had yelled at her, shook her, and thrown her onto her bed. The next day they put a lock on her door.
She had been so angry, but couldn't do anything about it. After school they would lock her up, and leave her in her room. This went on for four days. On the fifth day, as she walked home from school, her muscles tired and aching, there was a commotion outside her house. She pushed her way through the crowd, and saw that her parents were tied in the center of it. Two guards stood over them. She had screamed and cried but they didn't listen; her parents were 'traitors' they told her. The guard raised their wicked blades, and she saw her parents killed, then and there, in the street outside her house. She ran straight from there to Shaman Slowbull's office.
Tears now rolled freely down her cheeks as she was forced to slow down by the dragging weight on her back. Overcome by fatigue and hunger, she started to collapse forward. She put a foot forward to keep her balance, but succeeded only in falling sideways instead. She cried out, hysterical with grief and unable to move or stand back up with the boiler on her back. She sobbed loudly for almost an hour as dusk covered the land.
Laying there, through tear soaked eyes, she caught a glimpse of something strange through the trees: The furthest trees were obscured, and as she looked more closely, she realized that it almost looked like smoke, lit red from beneath. Through great effort she unstrapped the boiler from her back and crawled forward. She was sobbing, and even without the heavy machine she could not stand. She could feel now more than ever how deep in the forest she was, and it was making her claustrophobic.
She struggled to crawl over the twisting and gnarled roots of a large tree, and she was blasted by heat as she did. Ahead of her, she was faced with an impossible sight: An immense thermal vent, a hole in the earth 20 yards across, with a small river pouring into it from the north. It glowed a warm red, and she welcomed it- there was no moon tonight, and the darkness had been complete. The constant steam pouring from it would be an incredible source of power. The first thing Lucy thought of was something she learned in school.
Kiowa city had been founded skirting a very large steam vent that had provided its power for almost fifty years. The vent was famous across the continent. A rock slide deep underground closed the vent at its source, and for two years the people attempted to compensate with other forms of energy. Their infrastructure, however, was deeply rooted in steam energy, and the people fell into poverty and starvation. In desperation, a council of shamans was called together to perform a ceremony that would bring back the steam. During this ceremony an earthquake that opened new vents all over the city occurred, dropping more than a dozen buildings into the earth. For the people of Kiowa city the devastation was worth it, and these new vents were quickly capped and exploited. The vents had been working for years. But even they had started to weaken...
She laughed, her voice cracking. She had set out in search of a spirit animal, something to inspire her. She had always expected a fawn, as her name suggested. She stared, bleary eyed, at the pit before her, and she saw much life in the steam that broiled from it. Here was her animal. She fumbled at the pouch at her waist and held it in front of her. She carefully untied its rope, and looked inside, the red glow from the vent providing illumination. The pouch contained dry, scented leaves and something metal that she couldn't exactly identify. She trembled with anticipation and delirium as she approached the vital moment of her journey. She was meant to present the medicine bag to her spirit animal, and it would give her instruction. That revelation would guide her life. She coughed lightly and rose to her knees slowly.
Then she let the bag tumble into the pit.
~
As the story goes, a retired explorer by the name of John T. Blott called a conference of influential people together in 1642. At this conference, he showed diagrams and schematics that would revolutionize the entire world, bringing about enormous change: A series of machines that would allow the countries of Old Europe to harness and make use of steam energy. He was quoted as saying, "These plans are for sale, to everyone. You can leave here today with the power to change your countries for the better." As the story goes, most of the cultured, royal men in the room were not willing to pay the man's asking price. Famously, he led them out of his home toward his back yard, where he had a working prototype. Every man present paid for a set of plans.
As the story goes.
As the story goes.
~
"Would you listen to me, you thick skulled son of a Nepol? I turned in my application weeks ago, and I still haven't received a response. I'm ready to move my equipment in. What is the issue?" The woman's face was turning quite red as she vented her frustration at the shaman that stood before her.
Slowbull blinked slowly, took a deep breath, and spoke, "Ma' am, the building you are attempting to move into is not zoned for extreme heat steam equipment. You may not use your machines there," He wasn't interested in this conversation, and it came out in his voice. He was not a subtle man.
"Why? Why can't I use my machines there? The building is correctly reinforced, and the building materials are sufficiently heat proofed," she wasn't giving up easily. He entertained the thought of throwing her out to finish his paperwork before responding.
"It is a residential district, and the extreme heat is a danger to the residents," he said, glancing down at her application.
She balked, letting her jaw hang open for a split second. "I do laundry. Of course I'm opening in a residential district! This is ludicrous!" She said. He took in this information, and looked down at her application again.
"I see that it is a laundry. And, as you can see," he gestured toward the rack of different applications on the far wall, "there is a separate application for residential service businesses." The woman slowly turned red, a brighter red than Slowbull would have thought possible with her skin tone and already ruddy face. A bemused expression crossed his face, entirely caused by the color in her cheeks and forehead, as she tore her application to shreds, storming from the shaman's building into the street outside. He looked on, amused, as she stood outside, hands on her hips, and breathed heavily. She would be back in to fill out the correct application very soon, he was sure. What happened next he was not sure of, however. His heart had bet heavily against it, in fact.
Slowbull blinked slowly, took a deep breath, and spoke, "Ma' am, the building you are attempting to move into is not zoned for extreme heat steam equipment. You may not use your machines there," He wasn't interested in this conversation, and it came out in his voice. He was not a subtle man.
"Why? Why can't I use my machines there? The building is correctly reinforced, and the building materials are sufficiently heat proofed," she wasn't giving up easily. He entertained the thought of throwing her out to finish his paperwork before responding.
"It is a residential district, and the extreme heat is a danger to the residents," he said, glancing down at her application.
She balked, letting her jaw hang open for a split second. "I do laundry. Of course I'm opening in a residential district! This is ludicrous!" She said. He took in this information, and looked down at her application again.
"I see that it is a laundry. And, as you can see," he gestured toward the rack of different applications on the far wall, "there is a separate application for residential service businesses." The woman slowly turned red, a brighter red than Slowbull would have thought possible with her skin tone and already ruddy face. A bemused expression crossed his face, entirely caused by the color in her cheeks and forehead, as she tore her application to shreds, storming from the shaman's building into the street outside. He looked on, amused, as she stood outside, hands on her hips, and breathed heavily. She would be back in to fill out the correct application very soon, he was sure. What happened next he was not sure of, however. His heart had bet heavily against it, in fact.
Lucy Miner walked slowly into his building, her face red and sunburned, her clothes torn and filthy. She smiled a little at him, and kept approaching his desk at that same slow pace. He was shocked - shocked that she had survived, shocked that she had returned to see him. She had seemed to hate him, the last time he had seen her, and he was fine with that. It had helped him cope with losing her in the wilderness. But here she was and Slowbull's shock kept him in his seat.
Finally Lucy reached his desk. She leaned forward, took one of his shoulders in each hand, and kissed him on the forehead. Each movement was slow and deliberate. She said "Thank you," and left.
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