But even airborne demons require water, so we stopped at a small, spring-fed watering hole up a rocky ravine. We paused for a few moments to let MouthBreather rest.
I decided again to release the girlfriend from her dark prison, so she could come to a state of acceptance, the aspiration of every sensible person. The black sphere where she languished was deep in the recesses of her old brain.
But when I examined it now, it was empty! She had exploited a pinprick and had seeped out gradually over several days, so slowly I was completely unaware.
This was a source of true consternation for me. It caused me to doubt my own integrity. Everyone is a continuum of consciousness. The present moment is a constant midwife, birthing a new being from the past with every heartbeat. Who we are is a mixture of the tendencies and affections of the ones we love, and hate, with some mysterious inviolable self.
But the girlfriend had changed me, and I wasn’t sure if my perceptions, my expressions were mine or those of someone else I hardly knew.
But what can you do? You can’t unring the bell.
I told Melpomene what had happened and asked her if she had noticed any changes in me, over the past few days. She shrugged. “War is a crucible.”
That ambiguous gem was couched in the human language. I suspect that it was a lazy translation from Shaulan of something profoundly relevant to my situation, but the bitch did not elaborate.
“Namaste.” The voice rang out behind us.
We turned around and saw a woman standing in the ravine, looking up at us. Melpomene was gobsmacked that she had not sensed the woman’s presence. Evidently this was someone whose powers were uncanny.
The woman walked up to the horses. She ran her hand down Thalia’s muzzle and breathed into her nostrils. She saw the straggling herd drinking at the watering hole. “These are wild animals.”
“Yes, we are,” I said. She walked up to me and brushed the back of her hand against my cheek. “You are the leader, here.”
Her gray hair was in a ponytail, under a felt cowboy hat. She wore a flowing, colorful sundress, and had two cascading teardrops tattooed under one eye. She must have been in her 70s or even 80s, but hale. Her eyes were smiling. She knew she had nothing to fear from us, just as I knew.
I told her the truth, but was economical with it. She accepted what I said at face value, but she too knew more than she let on.
“Come with me to my ranch. You can clean up there, and we can talk some more.” She chose a spirited Appaloosa from the mustangs at the watering hole, and hopped on, bareback. We had no idea how she had arrived.