Snake Skin | John Marston

Treasure

Y/N figured it was best to take her leave after that nostalgic chat with some of the Van Der Linde crew. Without a word to anyone, she slipped away into the night, making a beeline for Rhodes. She rode hard and fast, her stallion galloping tirelessly until they reached Southfield Flats, where she set up a temporary camp beneath the stars.

Deep down, she hated to admit it, but she had grown attached to some of the folks in the Van Der Linde gang. A few had genuine, honest intentions, while others were only too eager to see her come to ruin. But she knew that the life she led was not meant for sharing. Friends, family, or lovers would only become collateral damage in the violent world she inhabited. The bounty on her head was climbing with each passing day, and that little stunt in Valentine would not soon be forgotten. They'd surely come looking for her, and when they did, she'd be ready to meet them head-on.

Another day slipped by, and Y/N felt the weight of dwindling supplies pressing down on her. Despite her better instincts, she fought the urge to ride into town. But she knew it was inevitable; sooner or later, she'd have to face civilization for her own good. Lying in the tall grass, her gaze wandered to the sky above, the vast expanse reflecting her restless thoughts. The longer she hesitated, the more enticing the idea of returning to town became.

When the sun finally crested the horizon, Y/N gathered her meager belongings and mounted her stallion. The ride to Rhodes was uneventful, the world around her tranquil, save for the occasional villager going about their business. No one piqued her interest; her mind was set on one thing: the post office. She wondered if her mother had sent her a letter after all these years.

As she approached the building, she dismounted and hitched her horse before stepping inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, a sense of alienation washed over her; she felt like an outsider in a place that was supposed to feel familiar. She quickly made her way to the post office clerk, lowering her head as she approached.

"Hello, Miss. How can I assist you today?" the man asked, his smile warm but his eyes curious.

"Do you have anything for Y/N Colter... from Maybelle Colter?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

The clerk studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Y/N Colter... I'll be right back," he said, disappearing into the back room.

Y/N nodded, turning her back to the clerk as she waited, the silence stretching out like a dusty road. When the man returned, his expression was apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Miss," he said, and Y/N understood all too well—no news was bad news. With a resigned sigh, she nodded and made a beeline for the exit.

"That was a waste of damn time," she muttered under her breath, her frustration simmering. She wandered through the town aimlessly, knowing she'd soon need to scrounge for supplies—whether that meant hunting, fishing, or resorting to less savory means.

Eventually, she found herself at the Gunsmith's store. With a heavy sigh, she sank onto the steps, lost in thought as the sun beat down on her. Just as she was finding a moment of peace, a boot jabbed sharply into her back.

"You're in my way, whore," a rough voice sneered. Y/N turned her head to see Micah Bell standing there, a smug grin plastered across his face. Disgust coiled in her stomach.

"Good to see you too, Micah," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I heard you ran off. Wouldn't expect anything less from a lowlife like you," Micah sneered as he brushed past her.

Y/N sprang to her feet, anger flashing in her eyes. "Hey, Micah, you ought to know a thing or two about lowlifes, considerin' where you find yourself in life," she shot back.