𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘎𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘙𝘌𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘉𝘜𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 | ʀᴅʀ

Chapter Two

1888, West Elizabeth: Great Plains

It was spring, so the early mornings were cold, even in the warm, rocky climate of West Elizabeth. The sun hadn't risen yet, the far edge of the horizon just beginning to turn a shade of auburn. No one else was awake except for Rosalie.

She sat at the edge of camp, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to warm up, shivering and taking a slow drag from a cigarette every so often. Tucked into her father's canvas jacket, the fur lining on the edges kept her warmer than if she had no other layers, but it was still freezing.

Nothing had changed over the past three years. Rosalie still could barely catch a wink of sleep. On a good night, she would get a solid five hours, but that was rare.

She often woke up filled with anxieties, flashes of burning saloons towering overhead, or her father's blood covering her clothes. Sometimes she would wake in a heap of distressed bedding, her hair sweaty against her forehead and no memories of her dreams, just the impending doom hanging over her. Despite knowing she was safe in her camp, surrounded by many who would lose an arm and a leg before any harm came to her, the feeling persisted.

This morning was no different. She woke up covered in sweat, her heart pounding out of her chest as she tried to regain awareness of where she was.

Rosalie didn't know if there would ever be a time when she would feel completely at peace.

It had been some time since her father and uncle were murdered, but she still missed them dearly, and they seemed to haunt her with their fond memories, the nostalgia more painful than happy at times. Thoughts of them left her filled with longing.

Just a moment more with them was all she wanted. It didn't have to be long. Even if it was just a few seconds, hearing her father's laugh, his smile, or her uncle tousling her hair affectionately, would be enough for her.

Rosalie took another drag of her cigarette and tossed it to the ground. She stomped it out with her boot, before returning to her tent and pulling out her father's guitar. Setting the instrument in her lap, she began to strum the guitar, her fingers plucking at the strings as she allowed the somber melody to calm her.

As she played, the morning went on, the sun coming over the horizon as the camp stirred awake. She didn't realize how much time had passed until Hosea came over to her with a steaming cup of coffee.

"Early morning?" Hosea asked, looking down at her with the tin cup extended.

Rosalie paused her playing and looked up at him, smiling idly as she set the instrument inside her tent and got to her feet. She dusted off her front, before taking the cup from him and holding it with both hands, enjoying the warmth it offered.

"Not really. Same as usual," Rosalie replied, looking out on the camp as Arthur shaved just outside his tent, Susan sipped her cup of coffee by the fire, and Dutch combed his hair on his cot.

"I heard you playing quite a bit earlier than you normally do," Hosea said, sending her a sideways look.

Rosalie shrugged. "Like I said, the morning was the same as usual. I couldn't sleep."

Hosea patted her shoulder. "Go easy on yourself, alright? I reckon with all that sleep you've been losin' you're feeling the effects of it. Need you to stay sharp. One of the few in the group now who actually has a brain."

She knew he was referring to the tousle Mac and Davey had the day before. They weren't dumb, but Hosea thought they were comparable to a bag of rocks at times with their hot tempers.

Rosalie gave him a smile. "Ah, you know I'm always sharp."

"Maybe as sharp as a butter knife," He teased, drinking from his steaming cup.