Marcelo
Marcelo wasn’t so much sore as he was weary. He’d spent enough time in the saddle that his muscles were used to that exercise. He rubbed the back of his neck after placing the stack of folded picnic blankets in the back of a supply wagon.
Around him, others were winding down, too, except for the security force. Some had retired already, to get in their sleep before later shifts, and others had spread out and were patrolling the campground’s borders.
Efren was again speaking with Denis. How much danger were they really in? King Deverick of Gagel had seemed like such a jovial, grandfatherly type of man the three times Marcelo had met him. Yet, Marcelo couldn’t fault the logic of Efren’s suspicions regarding Marcela’s death, and his mother had quickly come to the same conclusion. B
