may i stand unshaken [Arthur Morgan × OC]

Chapter 8

The long road led us into the mountains of the Grizzlies West, to the piercing cold and freezing frost. The prickly air burned my lungs, every climb up, every next meter forward was harder and harder. There were only bleaching valleys, steep cliffs and mountain passes around. Occasionally, the rising wind threw icy snow in the face. No one lived in this area, only deer with thick fur, sometimes there were bears or wolves that went wild from the harsh climate.

I was silent all the way. I thought, I remembered. I tried to hold back the bitter tears that stubbornly burst out when Richard's voice appeared in my head. His petrified face and glassy eyes. On the road, riding a horse, behind the patiently quiet Hosea, I was left alone with my oppressive thoughts, which squeezed the tortured heart in an attempt to tear it into small pieces. It was as if I was turned inside out and everything that was inside was shaken out, leaving only emptiness. I couldn't even bury him. And say goodbye. He was left alone, devoured by the merciless flames. And there was nothing left. I don't know if I can recover.

Hosea made me put on warm clothes bought especially for me, and now I was driving, wrapped in a thick jacket, squinting from the bright white snow, blinding my eyes. Matthews sometimes told me something without expecting any clear answer from me. Probably thought it would help somehow. Perhaps he was just speaking out loud to drown out the sometimes oppressive silence, from which someone else would already want to open up. For me, this silence was a small opportunity to periodically look at him. He seemed to have aged a little. Hosea was already quite a few years old, but now he seemed a little haggard, the hair on his head was thinning, although his eyes shone with wisdom and exceptional intelligence, they seemed more tired. But, one way or another, the man continued to look graceful and attractive. The same elegant foreigner who always turns out to be there at the moment when the heart inside has already been shattered by someone else's hands, and he will try to put it back together again.

Several times we stopped at saloons to have a snack and relax a little. I couldn't get a piece down my throat, but Hosea was persistent. Probably, as a last resort, he could sit opposite and pull out a gun, just to force at least something to eat. I probably wouldn't have been motivated by the possibility of dying.

The man believed that we should not stay too long, because he was afraid that the gang might leave the current place and disappear in another direction. Therefore, we moved along various roads and paths, no longer stopping. The weather was unpredictable. I swayed rhythmically to the beat of Ringo's movement and, as if fascinated, looked at the snow shining from the sun around. A gusty wind cleared the sky of dense clouds and allowed bright rays to illuminate the earth. We climbed the snow-covered slopes to the very top of the mountains, skirting the icy lake before that. I looked at him for a long time and involuntarily smiled, succumbing to old memories. How it all started. Then I thought that Arthur Morgan was my hero forever. Silly little girl. With a silent grin, I looked away. Bare trees bent gnarled branches to the ground. Somewhere nearby, a river was roaring, a layer of ice cracked in some places, releasing a stream of scalding cold water. If I were alone in this place, in this icy desert of cold, I would definitely get lost at the first path that disappeared because of the snow and died of hypothermia. Perhaps now I would not refuse a similar fate. However, instead, Hosea was still nearby, who clearly knew the way better. I felt like we were close. An early stubbornly hidden excitement was growing in his chest. To see all these people again, as if I had never known them. See him... Especially after our paths parted. I wonder what he's like now?

The wind picked up again. I covered my face with my hand in an attempt to hide it from the flying icy snow. Squinting eyes caught on dilapidated wooden houses, the roofs of which were covered with a large white layer. As it turned out, it was the abandoned mining town of Colter. Muffled voices could be heard above the howling of the wind. Hosea and I didn't fully understand what exactly happened in Blackwater, so there were a lot of questions. As we approached, I saw a young boy scurrying around, apparently on duty. He was sitting on a fallen tree, and when he noticed the movement, he jumped up abruptly, raised his carbine, pointing the muzzle of the rifle at us. Black, tall, well-built, but his hands trembled treacherously. He looked to be about eighteen years old.