chapter 19
265 Words
The Shepherd roared, his form unraveling — smoke peeling away like shadowed skin. His herd faltered, dissolving into ribbons of darkness drifting into the wind.
Mara stood tall in her stirrups, voice cracking but strong:
“I ain’t your fear anymore. I ain’t your ghost. I ain’t your sin to carry.”
The ghosts on the plains — the dust-figures who’d haunted her — stepped forward as if drawn by her words.
Coyote growled — not warning her, but guarding her.
The Shepherd lunged for her throat.
Mara didn’t raise her rifle this time.
She raised her hand.
“No.”
The word didn’t echo.
It detonated.
The plains around her blazed with white fire — not holy, not hellish, but something older than both. A fire forged from every truth she had ever tried to bury.
The Shepherd screamed — his form splitting like dry wood under a hammer.
The dust-ghosts joined her cry:
“No more.”
“No more.”
“NO MORE.”
Their voices flayed the last of the Shepherd’s shadow from his body. The herd evaporated with a howl that split the horizon.
And then—
Silence.
Soft.
Astonished.
Alive.
The Shepherd collapsed — what remained of him no larger than a dying ember. He flickered once… twice… then vanished into the wind.
The Devil lowered his head in acknowledgement.
“Well done,” he said quietly. “Few walk into their ghosts and come out whole.”
Mara exhaled. “Whole ain’t the word I’d use.”
“No,” he admitted. “But alive will do.”
- Writer
