Hawkeye leant against the railing of the lookout post and ran a hand through his hair tiredly. In days past the slow creak of the envelope and the gentle sound of the air passing had been a oasis of calm; today, as the golden sun rose in the clear sky, he felt as if he had toppled over the railing and was falling to his death.
She’s not the only one running from the past.
Of course, things had been different then. Long days spent riding and hunting in the forest, brought to an abrupt and entirely unlooked-for end by the announcement that he had been given in marriage to the daughter of another family. She’s a lovely girl, said his father, distant as ever in the great master study, and you will have your share of the fortune when you are wed.
She hadn’t been important to him at the time. They met at the presentation and again at the engagement party. She wasn’t even sixteen, stiff and formal as if it were her first time. He drank heavily.
Oh, hell. It was me.