12
It is midmorning before we pack camp and I saddle the gray mare. The late-night, the drink, and the hard ground have left my head muddled. The cold millet we had for breakfast has settled like a stone in my belly. It is a long day’s ride to the next town, and I do not wish to end the journey in the dark so at last, we begin.
The day had started with skies the leaden color of my mare. Soon a heavy mist drifts down soaking my clothes. The wagon where Cho sits behind the ox offers some protection against the wet, but the road is rough, and I fear the supplies inside will knock against me if I ride in it. Instead, I pull beside Cho and ask if he learned anything the evening prior.
“Soldiers speak of everything but the old battles,” he tells me. “It is only after much drink that the words
