So in place
of spices, she swept up a bunch of morning glories and gently laid them
about his head, framing his battered face.
Finally, she sewed up the ends, covering all.
Blinking back her tears, she turned to one side and reached for the
flint flaying tool, with which to cut off two short pieces of hemp
rope, measuring carefully. Then, one end at a time, she gathered
together the two ends of the shroud that extended one beyond the head
and one beyond the feet, folding each one over and tying it shut in
turn.
Lastly, she passed the loose end of the long tow rope, the other end of
which was attached to her horse's saddle, under the folded and knotted
end of the shroud, just above where the head of the man's body was.
This way, she could draw him, without actually tying onto his body,
which would have been too much like dragging a mere dead animal and a
thoroughly dishonorable act.
Finished at last, she stood up suddenly, and then swayed giddily,
almost physically overcome by everything for just a brief moment.
Regaining her composure and sense of balance, she turned to her horse.
Standing beside him, she began backing him up slowly, moving together
with him when he moved, his great clopping hooves stamping the earth
mightily one at a time like the sound of a giant's hammers, as he
backed away slowly until he progressively drew the rope taut.
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