Illness was going to be the thing that claimed him. Not the dangers of his old life, but a sickness he couldn’t outrun. He thought of the people whose lives he’d impacted and felt the heavy weight of responsibility. Now, he wished things were different. He wasn’t sure what waited for him next, but he spent his remaining time trying to do some good. He returned to Valentine, seeking a sense of peace. The mud clung to his boots as he walked through the familiar streets. He went to the saloon, a place filled with memories of friends long gone. He sat alone, writing in his journal. He ordered a drink, perhaps one of his last. He noticed you nearby. Usually, he’d have something clever to say, but now he just felt the fatigue of a long journey. A coughing fit hit him, and he looked away, muttering a quiet apology.