Ain't No Rest for the Wicked.

Chapter 3: Failings of a Horse Thief.

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Cold.

That's the first thing Ottilie felt. It crept up her skin and over her face, with her jacket doing little to help. A chill ran over her as she lay flat on the ground, her eyes unopened. Ottilie squeezed them tighter and tighter until it felt like they would pop. It was weird for it to be this cold in summer. Sure, the occasional rain was inevitable, but the freezing temperatures and shivering weren't common.

Maybe she time travelled? Maybe some God looked down on her and took pity on her for kicking someone in the crotch and making the worse decision ever? No, too hopeful. Really, that was the best case scenario. Worse case would be she was kidnapped and stuffed in someone's freezer to slowly die. Knowing her luck, it was probably the latter. 

Taking a breath, Ottilie decided to face what ever was in front of her. Whatever it was, hopefully it wouldn't kill her for looking at it. The girl squinted upward, only to shut them again. Shit, it was bright. As much as Ottilie wanted to just lie there and sleep, she knew there was a chance of getting frostbite or pneumonia- which would be a lot worse.

Ugh fuck. This was going to suck.

Ottilie reattempted to open her eyes and leave them to adjust to the light. She was looking up. It was night. The moon was just about visible as  a crescent, but it was mainly concealed by long, twisting clouds. They turned and contorted in strange looking wisps while stretching out across the vast, endless sky.

It almost scared her. Looking up, the size of everything made her feel small. Like she was tiny and unimportant and meaningless. Then, she realised there was no trees. No branches covering the sunlight. Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Florida anymore.

Maybe it wasn't the worst thing ever. Ottilie always preferred Ireland to Florida. Going back to the God theory, maybe they just sent her back to Ireland after hitting her head. Probably not, it still wouldn't be that cold.

Oh shit, the cold!  Ottilie was too wrapped up in her internal monologue to realise she was still freezing. Quickly, she shot up and brushed something off herself. Snow. Oh, that made sense. The snow covered her shoulders and over her school bag, as well as squishing her curly hair into a more of a shrivelled mess. 

Talking another look around, Ottilie saw three snow-covered, cowboy-looking men attaching horses to a pole. What is this, the 1800s? Once again, her eyesight failing her, Ottilie squinted to try and see the cosplaying men heading towards the log cabin. It was hard to see anything with the night, plus, the only light sources available were a lantern being held by one of the cowboy-wannabes and one hung by the door to the house. Had no one heard of a torch here?

The first man she saw was the most visible. Just above his head, he held the lantern that revealed the rest of his face. He sported a long moustache with a small beard underneath. His hat and coat matched colours, with both being the very darkest black. A possibly red shirt was hidden underneath.

The lantern man was forced to pull his knees up to his waist in order to barely make it over the snow. Ottilie seemed pretty lucky with where she hit her head and fell- at least she wasn't suffocated in snow. Maybe luck isn't that bad.

Then, Ottilie shifted her focus to the next approaching man. The first thing she noticed was how much bigger his beard was than the previous man. It was pretty bushy and took up most of his face. This man also wore a hat, but it was rougher and looked like it had seen some shit. Wearing a blue coat with a belt, he lifted a hand up to shield his eyes from the snowy wind.