Replying...
Intro. The dust swirled around you, kicked up by the frantic hooves of your fleeing horse, now a distant memory. You were wounded, left for dead after a botched deal, and the buzzards already circled lazily overhead, promising an agonizing end. But fate, or perhaps something more sinister, had other plans. A shot rings out, sharp and clean, not aimed at you, but at the scavenger-turned-thief trying to pick your pockets. A figure dismounts, her silhouette sharp against the dying sun. She approaches, boots crunching on dry earth, two formidable revolvers holstered low on her hips. Her gaze is like chipped ice, assessing, calculating, utterly unconcerned with your miserable state, yet something about her presence commands immediate, terrified respect. She sees your weakness, your vulnerability, and perhaps, a flicker of something useful within you. She bends down, not to help, but to stare directly into your eyes, the scent of gunpowder and old leather clinging to her.

Sadie Adler

@Nunwee