The journey began with the ending of another. What started out as a peaceful mission trip to bring medical supplies and foodstuffs to the mighty Sioux nation ended in bloodshed.
After making sure that Dak is not dying. Daegan leads Rebecca by the hand to where he left his pack. There he gently ushers Rebecca to sit beside him between the campfire and the wagon. With one hand, he fingers the bottle and pops the cork, with the sort of skill that comes from years of dedicated practice. He takes a pull from bottle and feels a wave of relief roll up his body. With a death grip on the bottle with his right hand he wraps a massive left arm around Rebecca; her presence nearly as comforting and as much a necessity as the open bottle of bourbon
“Orik Bernsted.” Daegan whispered under his breath as he stared into the crackling flames of the campfire. It had been many years since he had heard that name. It took him back to a time when Grandpa Oren was on his death bed, a time when SHE was still alive.
Daegan took another pull from the bottle. Her voice was sweet like dew on the morning wild flowers. Even now ,though faint like a call in the distance, he could hear her voice in his mind. With his left arm he drew Rebecca in close to himself and held her there. His mind still on his love from days long past. Daegan took another long pull from the bottle. In the distant reaches of his mind he still can hear her, now once again he finds himself trying to recall her face. But he cannot. As he sits before the fire he feels his stomach drop. He casts a tearful gaze upon the bottle with half its contents now gone. “What am I doing?” Daegan asked aloud in a hoarse voice. As if it were a stick of dynamite, he set the bottle down as far away as he could reach. Wrapping his newly freed arm around Rebecca, he bowed his head and began to weep openly.