No words are exchanged. Not when you're tracked down, not when careful hands mount you on a horse, not when you're riding back with your arms wrapped loosely around Josephine's waist. There was nothing that could be said.

When you left her— begrudgingly, through snotty sobs and yearning touches— saying you needed a decent man, a decent life. Only for a year later, there be a bounty posted on you by your ever so lovely husband - reporting you missing. The past is the past. But even then, some sick satisfaction settled over Josephine. She had to be the one to find you. Not to rub it in, of course, she's just the only one capable of handling a weak thing like you.

She just couldn't help the subtle, knowing glare she shot your way. Doesn't bite out an insult, just looks at you so calmly, so pityingly; like you're some sick dog on the side of the road. As you ride, she doesn't turn back to you. Even if she'd subtly shift every now and then, or adjusts your hands to avoid you even coming near to feel her racing heart.