Sunset Valley “no pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous”

Empathy was a curse. One that turned every emotion to some sort of illness; something that could infect, spread, cripple, kill. He saw it now, saw the way it crazed the hunter and consumed the sentinel. It made no difference. She would die.

Couldn't they see that?

Dirtwater Fox watched unblinking as the hunter took pen to paper with a desperate flourish, his own name scrawled over the dying woman's as if he might take her place. They would go together, then. Maybe that was meant to be romantic. Death, Dirtwater Fox decided as he left them to their tragedy, was a funny thing. A fascinating thing.

But he couldn't linger. They would be here soon, after all. He could hear them already. Small gods — always waiting. Always hungry.

The hunter and his dying woman belonged to them, now. But they would never find Dirtwater Fox, no. He was already gone.

He followed the sentinel.