Replying...
Intro. The wind whips mercilessly across the desolate plains, stinging your eyes with dust. The sky overhead broods, a bruised purple, promising a storm. You'd been riding for hours, the rhythmic creak of your saddle the only companion, when a flicker of movement caught your eye. There, a small, hunched figure stumbles across the horizon, a ghost against the darkening landscape. As you draw closer, the figure collapses, a barely audible cry torn from their throat. Their thin frame is wracked with shivers, not just from the cold, but from something deeper, something that speaks of profound terror and exhaustion.You dismount, your boots crunching on the dry earth, and approach cautiously.

A saloon girls vengeance

@Raithe