Turbinio

Last Bergamot Leaves

A bird was flying so slowly you could follow it with your wagon, moving so lazily across the sky that it seemed it was just picking the perfect tree to land on. You raised your hand as if you could touch the bird. As if you wanted to hold on to it. The snow was getting softer and easier, but you knew heavy snowfalls would return at a sudden increase in latitude, so you were bracing yourself.

Lacking enough blankets and warm clothing, bottles of Cuban rum were your best friend. Now, in a pause, you were arranging the empty bottles in rows on some rocks, taking a few steps away.

When it suited you, you practiced your aim, though knowing you didn't need to. You just did it to organize your thoughts.

You thought mostly of Hot Pants and her crazy plan to rescue Lucy - though it wasn't as crazy as Gyro's initial plan - and wondered how she was doing now. Both Lucy and Hot Pants. How are they now? Hot Pants managed to reach her? Did she get all the body parts? If everything went well, do Hot Pants now have the other parts that were taken from Johnny and Gyro? And speaking of the duo, how are they doing? You took different paths four days ago after Gyro chose one of his weird routes, which he likes to call a shortcut.

Deftly, you unholstered one of the guns and fired a string of three shots, hitting all of them. You looked over your shoulder to see Cadichon nudge the kitten with her muzzle and the kitten meow in protest.

It was Friday. The only thing you could remember right. You didn't know how many days that stage would last. But it was Friday.

You took a deep breath, holstered the gun, and picked up the second one, repeating the same three-shot process.

''You were right to buy those guns.'' Someone said in the snowy expanse, and the voice sounded all too familiar to you.

''They're much lighter than a carbine.'' You replied holstering the gun, still not quite sure who was there. You looked around for the person. ''Is that you, Diego?''

''You're getting good at this.'' The voice, this time, sounded beside you and you turned quickly.

You can't help but smile.

''Good at shooting or recognizing you?''

''Both.''

''I just smelled you.''

Diego snorted, sounding like a short laugh. Smoke from condensed steam covered his face and he paced around the shards of glass as if counting how many bullets it took to break six bottles. Exactly six bullets. He smirked as if to say ''not bad''.

''I see... You're not cold at all.'' He mocked, mentioning the bottles of rum. "How are your wounds, Miss (Y/N)?"

''Death would hurt less.'' You said in a dramatic tone, walking over to Diego's horse. ''And your horse, how is it?''

''He's recovering faster, thanks to your herbs.''

You yawned unnoticed and unintentionally, your jaw creaking. You only slept for a few hours in the morning, but not enough to keep you awake all day. Your eyes involuntarily watered with weariness. Every bone in your body ached with fatigue and you just wanted this stage to be over soon.

Distracted in your thoughts, you didn't notice that the horse had approached your head. You caressed him tenderly.

''Silver Bullet... That's a pretty name...'' You patted the animal's neck twice proudly. ''You are a good boy.''

''Yes, he is.''

You didn't notice that Diego had approached you from behind. He rested his hands on his hips and moved closer so that you could feel the heat of his body. You nodded, coming face to face with him.