“Anyway,” I said quickly, attempting to move my complicated, disconcerting thoughts aside, “we’re lucky we have you on our side.” I hadn’t seen it because I’d been tied inside the compartment, but I’d heard his running footsteps coming and could still picture him as he must have looked storming toward the buggy at a dead sprint and practically flying onto it in order to rescue us. “You’d be an asset in any situation right about now,” I said. He was strong and smart, and he had an obvious comfort level in this new precarious situation that not many others likely did. “People everywhere could use your help,” I said. “So…thank you for being…here for us. Charlie and I are really grateful.”

I smiled over at him, but his face seemed to harden minutely before he said softly, “It’s nothing.” And then he looked away.

That evening, we came upon an old, dilapidated barn that had clearly been abandoned long ago. If there had once been a house nearby, it’d long since been torn down. We unhooked the horse and Tuck tied her near the side of the structure that provided her some patchy grass to munch and a few puddles of water from what must have been a recent rain. Then we slipped through the gap in the double doors and entered the space, pearly light filtering through the multitude of gaps in the wood. I watched Tuck move through, his head tilted back as though he was assessing whether or not the ceiling was likely to fall in. And though it had obviously gone unused for what must be decades, it seemed sound enough to sleep in for one night.

I dropped my backpack on the cleanest-looking portion of flooring and began clearing some refuse to make a big enough space to lay out our sleeping bags, when Tuck said, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

I watched as he ducked through an opening between some missing boards in the rear wall and then headed off into the trees still wearing his gear.

“Why does he need his backpack to take a piss?” Charlie asked as he dropped his stuff and started bending his neck from side to side.

“What?” I had a moment of intense fear, like he’d leave us and never return, and for a flash, I felt as helpless as a child, but I also experienced a wave of something I could only call grief overcome me. I reached out for the wooden post next to me, the rough grain of the wood bringing me back to the moment, a splinter stabbing my skin but also serving to pierce the odd fugue state that I’d slipped into momentarily.

“Hey, you all right?” Charlie asked. “Earth to Emily.”