Snake Skin | John Marston

Feet Don't Fail Me Now

The next morning, Y/N awoke at first light, the pale rays of dawn filtering through the thin fabric of her tent. The familiarity of her surroundings had lulled her into a false sense of security, making the stark reality of her situation even more jarring. A gnawing hunger twisted her stomach, and she felt weak as she wiped away the remnants of last night's tears.

Panic set in as she realized her black stallion was nowhere to be seen. Without him, she was utterly vulnerable in this harsh, unforgiving world. The stallion was not just her mode of transportation but her steadfast companion, the only living being she trusted. This Thoroughbred had been with her since she was fourteen, a silent guardian with eyes that seemed to understand the depths of her struggles. Despite not being human, the bond they shared was profound, and Y/N was certain the horse had chosen to stay by her side through all the trials and tribulations they had faced together.

She looked around and saw the prints of the horse in the dirt. Without a moment's hesitation, she followed the trail. It led her out of the forest and into a secluded area. Squinting against the morning light, she scanned the horizon for any sign of her horse. Eventually, she spotted three silhouettes, one significantly larger, presumably her horse. She edged closer to the figures, her heart pounding with a mix of hope and trepidation.

As she drew nearer, she confirmed her worst fear: it was her horse. She dropped to a crouch, moving stealthily through the tall grass.

It was the law. Two lawmen stood beside her horse, inspecting the saddlebag. Her breath caught, but she steeled herself, drawing her revolver as she approached.

"Step away from the horse, gentlemen," she commanded, her voice steady as she cocked the gun.

The lawmen reacted instantly, drawing their own weapons and leveling them at her. One of them, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down his cheek, barked out, "Put the weapon down, now."

Y/N smirked and shot one of the men in the thigh, forcing him to hit the ground in pain and agony. "Don't threaten me, sir. I don't have time. Drop your gun!" she demanded, her voice cold and unwavering.

Y/N noticed the other man's finger twitch, about to pull the trigger. Without a second thought, she shot him in the neck and watched as he staggered back, clutching his bleeding wound, struggling to stay on his feet. She turned her attention to the other lawman and, without precise aim, fired a shot that struck him in the head. He collapsed instantly.

She sighed, holstering her revolver, and walked over to the fallen men to collect their belongings. She rummaged through their pockets, finding a few valuables and some ammunition. As she stood up, she heard distant voices shouting for her to stop and surrender.

Her eyes darted to the horizon, where three more lawmen were galloping towards her, guns drawn and aimed at her. The urgency of the situation set in, and she quickly mounted her stallion, clutching the reins tightly.

With a swift kick, she urged her horse into a gallop, dust kicking up around her as she sped away from the approaching lawmen. Bullets whizzed past her, but she didn't dare look back. The only thing on her mind was escape.

Y/N spurred her horse towards Saint Denis, her heart pounding with urgency. Her original plan had been to head to Armadillo, but with the law hot on her heels, she had no choice but to alter her course. The lawmen pursued her relentlessly, firing shots whenever they had the chance.

In the distance, she spotted a bridge that led into the city. She knew she needed to shake off the lawmen if she wanted to enter Saint Denis without drawing too much attention.

Determined, Y/N let go of the reins and twisted in the saddle, pulling out her second revolver. She aimed steadily at the men chasing her. Being the sharp shooter she was, it didn't take long for her bullets to find their marks. One by one, the lawmen fell, collapsing like dominoes and joining their fallen comrades in the dirt.

With the immediate threat neutralized, she turned back around and urged her stallion forward, galloping across the bridge into Saint Denis. Her mind raced with the next steps, knowing she had to blend in and disappear into the bustling city to avoid further pursuit.

The young woman was not familiar with the city, and its bustling streets intimidated her. The sounds of chatter, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, and the scent of unfamiliar foods swirled around her, heightening her anxiety. She hadn't eaten in a while, and her stomach growled in protest, reminding her of her pressing need to find something to eat.

Back at Clemens Point, John sat in his tent, replaying the events of the other night over and over in his mind. He didn't want to talk to anyone and certainly didn't want to face Micah again. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he glanced at Y/N's belongings stacked in the corner of the tent. He had insisted on taking her things, and no one had disagreed with him.

"Marston," Arthur called out from outside the tent. John stepped out, squinting against the sunlight to see the bearded man standing there, gripping his belt.

"Don't blame yourself," Arthur said, his tone steady.

"I'm not. I'm blaming Micah. You should've watched him hang in Strawberry, Arthur."

Arthur chuckled softly, then his expression turned serious. "You think I didn't want to? We wouldn't be in this mess if I could've stopped it. Micah somehow convinced Dutch that she's a spy. He said the next time we encounter her, we take that bounty and get the hell out of here."

John placed his hands on his hips and began to pace slowly, frustration evident in his movements. "I have to go see her. I need to make sure she's alright. She's out there all alone, armed only with her guns."

"John," Arthur said, getting his attention, "all that woman needs is a gun. I have a feeling she's alright. I mean, I hope so. I bet she's making her way to that damn Armadillo right now."

"Armadillo. I'm going to Armadillo," John replied, determination hardening his voice as he set off with purpose.

Arthur hurried after him, a frown on his face. "What? Right now?"

"Yeah, right now. Before it's too late," John said, striding toward Old Boy. To his surprise, Abigail came running toward him, her face etched with concern.

"What do you want?" he asked Abigail as he tightened the saddle on his horse, his tone brusque.

"Armadillo, John? Armadillo? Do you even know how far that is?! All because of her?!" Abigail's voice was laced with anger and disappointment.

"Yes," he replied, his resolve unshaken.

"You're pathetic, John Marston, pathetic!" she yelled, her frustration boiling over as she stormed off.

John sighed, swinging himself onto his mount. "You say nothing yet. And make sure she doesn't say anything either," he called after her.

"Don't worry, I got your back," Arthur said with a nod before walking away.

Now all John had to do was reach Armadillo as fast as he could to confirm if Y/N was there or not. He kicked his heels into Old Boy's flanks, urging the horse into a gallop. The wind whipped through his hair, carrying away the doubts and fears that had plagued him. Every beat of his heart echoed his determination; he wouldn't rest until he found her.