"If wishes were horses..."

Ennis can't remember the rest of the saying.

He takes a long swig from his flask, feels the whiskey burn all the way down, and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Hell, if wishes were horses, they wouldn't be wishes anymore," he mutters.

He stands on top of Brokeback Mountain, the place where it all began. He wishes he'd been able to carry out Jack's wish for his ashes. He wishes Jack's parents hadn't been so damn unforgiving. He wishes a lot of things, but mostly he wishes for Jack.

"If wishes were horses..." Ennis murmurs, tipping his head back. He inhales the scent of the mountains, the scent of the wilderness. He breathes in the scent of Brokeback, holds it in his lungs, and refuses to exhale. He holds his breath, lodging the air in his throat. His eyes water.

If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

Ennis exhales in a rush and spins around. But there's nobody there. Nothing except the mountain and the horse he rode up on.

"Then beggars would ride," he murmurs. He takes another drink. "And I'm the beggar."

He tosses the flask away and walks back to his horse. He mounts and takes one last, long look at Brokeback. He tips his hat at the mountain, saying goodbye.

Then the beggar rides.