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Episode 14
Blood and Bone

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Lacey Miller, The Fabulous Lady Equestrienne Who Defies The Fiery Rings of Death!

In the circus camp on the outskirts of New York City

After an eternity or two, dawn broke over the camp. The alien sounds had died away perhaps an hour earlier. Lacey had remained awake, waiting, but when the camp stirred back to life, there were no cries of fear, no sharp crack of firearms.

Lacey rose to her feet and prepared for the day. Her face was calm--but she tucked the hoof pick into the waistband of her riding skirt before leaving her wagon.*

Cook had a pot of plain corn mush on the boil. They'd run out of sweetener and pork fat weeks ago. Despite this, Lacey's appetite quickened as she sat beside the motley crew of early-rising circus folk: roustabouts, Ginger the clown, the girl sharpshooter, the Indian mahout, and animal handlers (not including the snake charmer, who had no need to rise early to tend to her charges). Lacey was surprised to see the mahout; she wouldn't have expected him to have the discipline to rise early.

She said as much to him, though she discreetly omitted the part about lacking discipline.

"It is being very simple," he said cheerfully. "I am finding the morning to be the best time for the practicing of my asana and pranayama. I am usually eating first thing. I am thinking you are surprised because you are usually being with your horses when I am finishing breakfast."

His asana--he must mean the outlandish contortions he employed. She had of course glimpsed his exertions and averted her eyes, as a lady should. It was hardly an appropriate topic of conversation. She smiled noncommittally and dutifully returned her attention to her bowl of mush, which seemed unlikely to do anything improper or even remotely interesting.

The other circus folk ate quickly and without much conversation, but Lacey noticed that their eyes strayed often to the trees. She wasn't the only one whose sleep had been disturbed.

Genevieve Woodward, the girl sharpshooter, ate with hearty appetite. Her rifle leaned against the fallen log she sat on. When she'd scraped her bowl clean, she returned it to Cook and asked, "Any special requests? I'm going hunting."

"Why, yes!" he responded in kind. "Some nice tender lamb would be lovely."

She nodded. "Squirrel it is."

Genevieve came back to camp rather quickly, before Lacey had even finished her corn mush. Cook bustled forward. "You're back so soon! What did you bring me?"

Silently, the girl tossed a dead animal on the ground in front of her.

Judging by its size and long, tattered ears, it had once been a rabbit, but something had savaged it nearly past the point of identification. Blood and fouler liquids matted the patches of brown fur that clung to the carcass. The rabbit's soft underside had been hollowed out. Its ribcage had splintered. Chunks of meat and segments of intestine dangled from the corpse, leftovers of a very messy meal.

"I can't use what's left of this meat!" Cook protested. "It wasn't butchered properly. The meat's contaminated!"

"I didn't bring it to eat," Genevieve said. "But I ain't going back into the woods."

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Abra Staffin-Wiebe

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