[PSL] in this sense the open jaws of wild beasts will appear no less pleasing than their prototypes

[katabasis]

The bread that is over-baked so that it cracks and bursts asunder hath not the form desired by the baker; yet none the less it hath a beauty of its own, and is most tempting to the palate. Figs bursting in their ripeness, olives near even unto decay, have yet in their broken ripeness a distinctive beauty.

Comments

[aletheian]

"Don't look back."

What a thing to say.

He doesn't know why.

Bettina does indeed have a map, it turns out, and Marshall wasn't lying about where to collect clothes - he's uncharacteristically quiet as he shoves a pair of boots at Thomas with the kind of mulish intent that says he'd be shouting at him to take them if he could cough anything up. He continues to glare at him until he can't, and sets about showing one of the girls where a rifle is, apparently knowing better than to pick up a weapon right now. Bes shoulders it and lets Thomas have her bags, after he's changed out his shoes. He stares at himself after and almost pulls them off, realizing he'd done what a fucking overseer wanted him to while the plantation is burning. Maybe James sees the blank expression on his face and the look of disgust and horror that flashes there before he returns to normal.

Men are being burned alive at the other end of the field. He wonders if one is Mr Browder.

Marshall tries to say something to James - there's a look on him that means it's important, but whatever it is he just can't make himself get it out.

If he had another minute, perhaps. But they have to go, they have to go right now, and Thomas does have James's hand this time, heading towards the far end of the plantation that'll take them north. There's only one other farm that way, too wild and unsettled still for conquerors of the New World. They'll loop around, one way or the other, but the main roads will be too dangerous right now - to be sure, plenty of men running water to and fro in frantic hope that it doesn't catch the trees and spread to their own property will ignore runners in favor of damage control, but some won't. Some will take pot shots in the dark, some will have dogs.

They have to disappear while they can.

Getting everyone over the damaged fence is easy, somehow, even laden down and most of them in skirts; between the time they leave Marshall and the time they leave the plantation they've attracted one more, a Jacobite named Robert with blood streaked down the side of his face and a pack full of food. He was one of the maybes, and one of the younger convicts. They're five meters out, then ten, and Bettina makes a sound like a sob. Thomas holds her arm and she staggers against him, trudging forward despite her choked crying. Their heads bent together Thomas tells her, "He wanted you to leave. He did. He'd only forgotten."

She doesn't slow.

[katabasis]

Sturdy shoes, a hat, a coat. They aren't the only good things had out of Marshall, but they're certainly the last. They likely count for more than anything the man might have had to say; should it be disturbing how easy James finds it to leave him behind in favor of anything else, everything else, or does it just go without saying that Marshall should understand himself as owning some strange, complicated form of his gratitude. It would've been easy to kill the man, James doesn't think. That should be enough for anyone. He isn't going to say Be well or Thank you to anyone who helped pin Thomas thrashing to the ground. To anyone who had any part in making Thomas so angry, so disparate, so hacked open. He doesn't have the capacity to even think of it.

Bes uses a kitchen knife to cut three strips from a dark shirt. She uses one to tie around the knife's handle and secure it to her apron string, tucking the blade neatly into her pocket. The others she gives to James; he knits them together for a belt, tucking Andies' pistol against his hip. From a distance, he knows the lot of then might almost be mistaken for people. It seems like a strange conclusion to draw, though. Even after they've cut across the firelit landscape and climbed over the fence, passing into the underbrush where the stench of smoke and burning doesn't hang so heavily in the air, it doesn't feel as if anything has shifted like it has.

It's the same night here as it was in the yard. The glow of fire burns through the trees and they are not radically different people from the ones they were forty meters ago. Again and again and again.

Then they plunge North into the deeper wood, Thomas's hand in his in the midst of women and a young man who can hardly grow his beard, and they see that place for the last time.