THE RISE AND FALL OF A MIDWEST PRINCESS

[ 01 ] The Rising Sun

CHAPTER ONE
The Rising Sun

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DAWN IS BROKEN BY THE USUAL sprawling cloudscape of Lemoyne, the hazy auburn light scalding the final stars so that they retreat back into the cosmos 'til night falls again. A warm breeze rustles the sleepy plains of Scarlett Meadows and kicks up small dust clouds across the gentle slopes, morning dew dampening the ruddy earth so that it squelches slightly underfoot. The air is already beginning to heat up in preparation for another unbearable day under the sweltering sun, the chilly comfort of the lost twilight having dissolved entirely by the time they've scraped past noon.

Winona keeps her eyes trained on the horizon, her palms loose around her Lancaster Repeater as her mind begins its first aimless wander of the morning. A bored sigh slips from her before she can smother it and a few nearby rabbits startle at the sound. She pays them no mind. When she grows sick of standing still, she lights a match on her spurs and lifts it lazily to light the end of her cigarette, taking a long drag to ease her restless mind.

She's always enjoyed taking the night watch, really. It busies her when she's plagued by night terrors or the occasional burst of insomnia and can't bear lying in the confines of her tent, giving her the opportunity to pace back and forth in the dead of night without disturbing any of her sisters as they sleep away the troubles sired by the previous day. Although, she can't help but wish that something interesting would happen every once in a while. Maybe then she wouldn't be bored out of her mind, sitting with her gun limp in her hands, literally watching the grass grow.

Her head lolls back with the first exhale. It relaxes her, focuses her — unburdening the tense weight on her shoulders. Smoke clouds the atmosphere, curling from her mouth to wisp off into the muggy air around her. Her eyes flutter shut as the exhaustion begins to catch up with her, sinking deep into her bones until it feels as though she'll melt under the pressure.

The past couple of days have been hard on everyone and she can't help feeling guilty for her tiredness. They had to relocate their camp from the remote outskirts of Ambarino all the way down to Scarlett Meadows after an... extremely unfortunate run in with a band of bounty hunters, constantly looking over their shoulders as they tore across three states to evade them. Those ones had been particularly relentless, only being shaken off their trail halfway through the bayou after a congregation of gators had spooked their horses.

She can sort of understand why. The collective prices on their heads are, to put it mildly, eye watering but if there's one thing the False Widows can't risk, it's being caught by the law — none of them have the time to rot in a jail cell or await a hanging when there's so many people out there just asking to be robbed. If only the government could understand their point of view on such matters.

Winona crushes her cigarette beneath
her heel, scoffing slightly. God forbid a woman has hobbies. She lifts her chin to stare out across the field again, hardening her stare and willing herself to continue keeping watch until somebody says otherwise. Luckily, that relief comes sooner than later.

  A hand rests on her shoulder and she practically jumps out of her skin, spinning around and lifting up her gun to press against the perpetrator's forehead. Her finger goes to graze the trigger just as she realises who it is, her grip faltering.

  Clementine only grins. "Easy there, cowgirl," she says, voice gravelly from sleep. She uses the tip of her index finger to direct the barrel earthwards, pushing the gun flat against Winona's chest. "I've just come to take over for a while. Go get yourself somethin' to eat, yeah?"