There Aren't Any Answers, Only

Sassenach, I've Been Stabbed, Bitten, Slapped, And Whipped Since Supper - Which I Didna Get To Finish. I Dinna Like To Scare Children An I Dinna Like To Flog Men, And I've Had To Do Both. I've Two Hundred English Camped Three Miles Away, And No Idea What To Do About Them. I'm Tired, I'm Hungry, And I'm Sore. If You've Anything Like Womanly Sympathy About Ye, I Could Use A Bit!

Oh, Aye, Sassenach. I Am Your Master . . . And You're Mine. Seems I Canna Possess Your Soul Without Losing My Own.

Am I A Man? To Want You So Badly That Nothing Else Matters? To See You, And Know I Would Sacrifice Honor Or Family Or Life Itself To Lie Wi' You, Even Though Ye'd Left Me?

No Wonder He Was So Good With Horses, I Thought Blearily, Feeling His Fingers Rubbing Gently Behind My Ears, Listening To The Soothing, Incomprehensible Speech. If I Were A Horse, I’d Let Him Ride Me Anywhere.

No Wonder Men Got Impervious To Superficial Pain, I Thought. It Came From This Habit Of Hammering Each Other Incessantly.