Outside he could hear people moving about. The window was high and he couldn't quite peer out, but when he managed to haul himself up enough, his dark eyes wouldn't pick up much. They couldn't see well under the harsh sunlight, it was hard to make anything specific out. He didn't bother trying anymore, his arms were weak and his mouth dry. He was dehydrated, and his stomach felt as if it were trying to eat itself. In the past week he had been given a small cup of water a day, and a piece of bread and small strip of dried meat. He didn't like the meat---it was too spicy, like it was smoked for too long and salted far too much. But food was food, and he wasn't passing it up, no matter how little time he had left. In his mind's eye Andrew could see the gallows and the noose. It was in the center of town, he'd passed it coming in. Shuddering at the thought, he managed to stand up without becoming dizzy and collapsed on the little cot in the corner of the cell frontward, wriggling out of his bloody shirt to give his wounds some time to breathe. Blood oozed down his back, and he shook.

There were times it was quiet enough that he could hear a vague, frantic whinnying, and his eyes stung painfully. That was his girl, his White Tide, possibly about to be given to a man that had never owned her. Of course the people of this town didn't care. They wanted him to have what he wanted and they wanted to see a public execution. He wasn't even twenty yet and accused of the very thing he hated---theft. Why had he come into town in the first place? He knew there were beautiful forests to the west, the north, even the south. He would have gone south but White Tide had been so hungry, and so tired. The dense scrub brush out here just didn't hold the right nutrients.

He let out a high, shuddering sigh and closed his eyes to fight back tears as the cell door opened and closed. He knew it wasn't time, he still had a day. When the hand fell on his shoulder, Andrew knew not to fight back.