Unsuur could count on one hand the number of individuals who knew his secret.
Number one—Justice knew because he was the one to take Unsuur in. Number two—Trudy knew because nothing happened in Sandrock without the mayor's knowledge. Number three—Captain knew as Unsuur told the third member of the Civil Corps everything; as a cat, Captain was unlikely to spill the beans. Number four—Logan knew as Logan was his secret. Number five—Haru also knew, as he was a part of Logan's gang.
--just as Unsuur once belonged to that same gang.
The truth--
If anyone asked, even guessed the truth, Unsuur wouldn't lie about it. Yet he said nothing, letting it hang over his head like a dark cloud that brought rain that soaked into the hot desert sands rather than replenishing Martle's Oasis, which Sandrock so needed to survive. And sometimes, he thought particular residents didn't like him as they had their suspensions regarding him, such as the Blue Moon Saloon—Owen owner.
"Owen's shipment of supplies is a bit late," Justice said, catching Unsuur's attention.
"Do you want me to ride out to see what is going on?"
"Owen will be going with you."
Unsuur stared, but there was no going against Justice's order.
Instead, Unsuur headed out to his horse, carefully brushing the coat down before saddling up. He patted the side of his horse before placing his boot in the stirrup. The saddle creaked slightly, straining against his weight as Unsuur swung himself up. Fingers twisted around the reigns as his heels lightly pressed into the horse's side, urging the beast forward down the main street, straight to the Blue Moon Saloon where Owen waited for him.
"Oh. Hi Unsuur," Owen said.
Unsuur wondered if Owen would have preferred his childhood friend Justice instead.
Owen patted the side of his horse. "Rented a horse from Cooper for this trip."
"Aye," Unsuur said, watching Owen swing up into the saddle, the leather creaking as the saddle took Owen's weight. Unsuur turned his head before clicking his reins and pushing his heels into the horse's sides so they could start moving forward. The horse moved at first with a smooth gate, but as the beast picked up speed—from the smooth trot to a faster-paced canter to gallop, yet as the horse moved, Unsuur felt the beat increase.
And he said nothing.
After all, he wasn't a conversationalist and preferred taking in the way the horse moved and the scenery that flashed by as they followed the tracks in search of the supply train.
"Wanna bet it was Logan?" Owen, however, was a conversationalist and Unsuur thought that was an excellent reason for Owen to own the saloon.
Unsuur shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to discuss Logan of all people. A shudder ran down his spine at almost the wrong time, causing him to almost not rise with the beat of the horse's gait. Nor was he the betting kind of person.
