Jenny: A Man

Jason flung down his instruments and bolted across the room as Domitia staggered back in carrying the boy's body. After having seen to the boy's needs for so long - scored knees, broken arms - he felt as though something in him were torn loose when he saw the arrow. But he had learned how to force that down under the cool surgeon, to look at the thing and see what needed to be done, and to do it, and to feel afterward.

There was nothing that could be done. He knew that. He slipped his arms under the body and took it from Domitia, who was barely, and bravely, holding back her hysterics. The Guttersnipe was there, white as a sheet, and he took them in very little. The body was very light to carry, empty like an autumn leaf - and he the wind, carrying it down to drift to rest on a tabletop, crisp, cool, lifeless. There was nothing that could be done. The eyes were closed, the mouth void of any pain or regret. It came to him that look the boy had given him the moment before he had turned to go outside, and he wondered if the boy had known. Brave little soldier! He had gone anyway. And now he really was gone.

Putting his hand over the boy's face, he murmured, "He will not be needing the horse or the dog now."