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Burning Sky #17
I stopped the steam coach. He didn’t move, perhaps too weary or sick to run. He might have been hurt, but outwardly he had no bruises or abrasions. His pain and distress were palpable in the twilight and the glow of the Penelope’s headlamps. Another few moments and the night shadows would have hidden him from me.
“I won’t hurt you…” I said.
“I know,” he said shortly.
“Do you need help?”
“It appears I do, yes.”
“I can give you a ride—” Briefly I thought of the mechanical passenger in its cocoon of my winter clothing and dismissed it; let it howl.