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> Maggie in Plureality

Max pulled the flaps of the tent back, sweat dripping from his brow, the sound of the drumming and clapping filling his ears. He didn’t know how they did it, sitting in the sweat-tent waiting on the spirits to guide them, speak to them.  
His eyes struggled to focus but he could make out Maggie’s figure through the soft glow of the moon. The smoke from the campfire swirling around her, almost like it was dancing with her, kissing across her face and whirling away like the key to their freedom was a soft brush across her lips. He understood that feeling, despite how often she made him angry, nervous, and all together ungrounded. His heart hurt looking at her and he smiled. 
“Damn it.” He loved her. Maybe he had learned something in the sweat tent after all, he thought, pulling himself quickly to his knees. 
The snapping just behind the tent was the first clue that they had been set up. He wondered if he was the only one who had noticed. He stood statue still, his eyes glancing over to her again, watching her lean in laughing to Frank and he smiled to himself as she gracefully swooped down, pulling the pistol from her ankle boot. Her eyes turned and met his, almost like she had always sensed him there. It was like that for them. She smiled and nodded. 
 “That’s my girl,” he thought, as all hell broke lose.