[ WP ] This is n't home , but it 'll do .

The hot midday sun glared down on me from up above, a condemning sneer as I leaned back against the elm. I sat, feet no longer able to keep me up and fighting. My shirt was stiff with sweat, dirty and blood, and it protested as I tried to pull it free from my jeans. My shoulder was stiff where I had fallen from my horse, and I could feel cracked ribs grating together as I tried to tease some movement into it. Out of all my aches though, thirst plagued me most, the dust bowl of my throat crying out for help. All I could think about was the small muddy creek I had been too proud to lap at yesterday. 
 
 My eyes tracked the horizon blearily as it stretched on in a long perfect strip, so blue you could swim through it. The rough and dusty, yellow grass failing to reach up into that perfect expanse. It was the sheer isolation that struck me then, how completely alone this tree and I really were. I think I would have laughed if I could, at the irony of it all. I had run from fame and notoriety, fled friends and family while seeking seclusion. I had certainly found that. Now it was only this tree supporting me. 
 
 The tree seemed to take a little pity on me then as shade slowly crept over my face. I regretted the loss of my hat more than anything, even the killings. The tree understood. A smile cracked my dry lips, the fresh pain both sharp and sweet. I knew I was n't getting any further, I had known since I had seen the elm and taken it's succour. There was just one last thing to do, but it took the rest of it out of me. Breaking the clasp on my holster, fingers slipping over the fresh blood, and dragging my pistol into the sun's eye. It revelled in silver and crimson. I threw it as far as I was able. I closed my eyes. I slept. 

