A quote: “At his best, man is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice he is the worst.” ~~ Aristotle

I’ll start with a story …

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Thistle wasn’t her given name. Abagail and John still didn’t know it. He was part of the posse two harvests back who rode to Springhope after a rider came to Oak Lake for help.

Springhope had been more of a promise than a town … a couple of buildings and a gathering of locals a few times a month for trading and socializing. The Posse arrived to find nothing but smoldering ashes and bodies.

John found Thistle still curled against the mother who had given her last to protect her. The six-year-old was terrified beyond speech, covered in ash and brush. He bundled her up and brought her home.

Over the next two years she slowly became a child again. But she still didn’t talk.

But, boy howdy, could she draw! Abagail was stunned when she walked in as Thistle had taken charcoal from fireplace and drew on the wall. A bird … not some stick figure bird, but a grouse in full flight so rendered Abagail thought it would fly right off the wall!

Abagail quickly brought out paper from her stash – nothing from town was thrown away, certainly not any of the paper that wrapped rare purchases from The Mercantile.

John came in for supper to find the table covered with drawings. Their humble home, chickens, squirrels, horses … even a portrait of Abagail, face so sweet, John was startled into tears.

“Oh, Thistle!” he whispered, “these are wonderful!”

She beamed up at him and stunned him further by talking, “My name is Deborah.” She glanced back at Abagail, who nodded. She faced John again and handed him a stack of papers.

“These are the men who killed mama.”

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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license