“Now that my fingers aren’t constantly frozen, I figured I should. I just can’t think of the lyrics. I’ve finally got two decent melodies, but...they’re not good enough to stand by themselves. I need to put words to them, and I just can’t come up with any.”“What sort of songs?”“One sounds almost heroic, the other is sort of sad. I tried to write something about Fergus for the sad one, but what can I say? He died when a tree branch hit his head after the snow beasts broke our spear trap. I can’t. "The next evening, Sam showed up at the jail for work. "Howdy, Sam. Are you shore you're well enough to git back to work?" Yeah, Marshal, I think that I kin cut it." OK, for the next few nights, I'm puttin' you on desk duty. Tom Watson an' the new man, Joe Butterworth, will handle the rounds. Since you kin read and write, I'll depend on you to keep the paperwork in order for the night shift. Once you git your strength back, I'll put you back on regular duty. But, this way, you kin still git. More

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