Realization dawned on BrushBurn's face. He rested his arms on the table top, knotting his fingers together. He said nothing for a long time.

TripStone said, softly, "I'm sorry about the cart."

"Wood and metal." He shrugged. "We're still alive." He padded toward the empty teapot and retrieved the tin cups. He dropped one on her table, hobbled to his pack, and lifted the bottle of spirits.

"Medicinal," he offered. "It's quite strong."

TripStone shook her head. BrushBurn returned to his chair and set the cup down for a slow pour. For a while he stared at it.
Then he took a deep draught and let out a long sigh, leaning back.

TripStone watched his closed eyes and the even rise and fall of his chest, his forced calm. The air carried him to her. "You hurt, too."

He barked a laugh, took another drink.

"Tell me."

"You don't want to know."

She took cautious steps toward him and rested her hands lightly on his shoulders. "You've done things I don't understand," she whispered. "Things that sicken me. Help me to understand why." She gave his vest a gentle squeeze. "I promise I won't hit you."

"That's too bad." He opened his eyes and lifted the cup to his lips. He set it down, filled more from the bottle, and closed his eyes again. "I didn't lie to you, TripStone. I was born on Destiny Farm. Grew up there. Until I came of age, it was the only place I'd ever known. I hadn't even heard of Promontory."

He took another long sip. His other hand reached up and covered hers. "It's actually quite beautiful. It's still a desert, but the weather is more temperate than in Promontory. Milder. Many happy memories there." He looked up at her. "Not what you might expect."

She tried to still the trembling in her legs. "Whatever I expect, I want to know what is."