𝙎𝙢𝙤𝙠𝙚 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 - 𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙒𝘽𝙊𝙔 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

2.

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A cowboy tips his hat to a woman, but never to a man. 

August would thwack his hand with one harsh swoop against Darren-Floyd's chest, giving him a sharp, yet humoured stare. 

"Quit tippin' you're hat to the men, real cowboys don't do that," A snicker follows after August's words, his dark, almost black eyes boring into Darren-Floy'd blue ones in a derogatory form.

Darren-Floyd's eyes narrow, shooting August a questioning glare from across the horse he sits on, both patrolling beside each other. 

The air tightens in its heat, sweat lingering in the air in its unremorseful layer. 

Sandrange speckles of townspeople, some passing by with children floating past, farmers and corseted women, miners and such to dot the dirt-crackled road. Buildings, rustic in their untouched charm, some walled by wood, some by brick stand against the blistering summers and the slightly cooler winters.

Age has become a word to be associated with Sandrange.

Age, by the generations who've both grown up and passed away within the same homes their parents did, age by the robust shops and houses that'd never needed renovation nor expansion.

And that's what honoured Sandrange, its tradition, perseverance, and its townspeople. 

Some wish to leave the town, and start anew within the major cities across the country, whilst other's find comfort in the solace and southern-accented people they surround themselves with, even finding how mundane the town to be a consolation to make up for any want or need to leave. 

August's gold spurs would gently apply pressure against his horse; Spades. The name he'd gifted his horse whilst drunk at the saloon, playing cards with his co-workers. 

He found both humour in it, bringing back both sweetened and drunken memories, almost humming away in the reminisce of it all. 

"See- you be tippin' you're hat to everybody 'round this town, what's the deal when I do it?" Darren-Floyd would persist, the gentle, slow patter of their horses slowly walking beside each other weaving within the mingled, muffled chatter of the townspeople, Darren-Floyd's words drawing a deep, chesty laugh from August's lips. 

"To the lasses, not no man, Floyd," He snickers, Darren-Floyd's face twisting into a reddened expression of both embarrassment and revelation as his blue eyes would flicker wide, brows raised against his forehead. 

"What- so- so the men 'round here now be thinkin' I-"

"Maybe, or they simply think you're a lil' fogy-"

"I ain't stupid...!"

The two would burst in a round of laughter, both held in a rivalled form and a playful punch at each other, August's lips tilted in a grin of laughter as his cheeks would dimple, his gaze darkening in a morphed gaze of concern as the ceasing of Spade's; his horses' steps would have his head peek from his black, leather cowboy hat. 

And there, with the disturbed voice of a woman, draped in the plainest of a beige gown, buttoned up to her neck, long-sleeved, the skirt trimmed in a ruffle to add the faintest flow, would most likely be middle-aged, hair pulled back in a bun with her eyes sharp and concerned. 

Darren-Floyd's horse would come to a sharp halt also, yet the women would only address August with the firmest of words, before August could even tip his hat in a greeting. 

"Sheriff, you gots' to do somethin' bout' that woman."

And with that, August's lids would flutter, his dark, inky lashes shifting over his black eyes with a wave of trepidation and concern, his knuckles faintly tightening against the leather reigns of his horse. 

"Scuse' me, ma'am?"

He would murmur, attempting to paint his tone with a faint smile of smoothness, yet his eyebrow would cock upwards, the women's face tightening. 

"I know you ain't stupid, Sheriff- that woman, the looney one," Her tone would firm into a tense murmur, August a touch taken aback by a tone such as this being used against him. 

Great.

That was the first, blunt word that'd echo against August's mind.

The 'crazy' woman.

Even so, he'd swallow the dryness from his throat, shooting Darren-Floyd a glance of obviously-built silent queries with each other, before August would turn back towards the woman. 

"Ma'am- I don't- I don't exactly know what the problem is, if ya' just calm d-"

"That nutcase has been screamin' n' cryin' for hour's-! she's my goddamn neighbour, Sheriff, and I got's my own kid's to raise, and they don't be needin' to hear a loony hollerin', and this ain't the first time neither-!"

She would snap, prodding her finger up in a defensive tone, her words harsh yet full as she'd direct her frustrations towards the Sheriff.

His entire body would pause, blinking rapidly as his mind would haze in a spin of not anger, or offence, but simply confusion, attempting to process and sink this woman's words in as he'd raise his hands in almost a surrendering form. 

"Hey- Hey- you don't need ta' be talkin' to me like that, yeah? it ain't right on my side, listen,"

August's words trail as his hand raises, pinching the bridge of his nose before he massages his eyelids in a light sense of both mental exhaustion and indecision.

He takes a deep, hoarse inhale, the hot air fueling his lungs, before his exhale would leave him slowly.

"Listen- I'll- I'll make a stop at her house, 'kay? check up on her, all the sorts. Just leave it ta' me," He assures with a touch of hesitance, before it's brushed by a force of confidence, offering a faint, yet recognisable smile, which would bring the woman's face into a softened grin of assured ease. 

She nods once, sighing softly, before she murmurs a resigned, "...Thank you," carrying a hint of guilt from her emotional outburst against the Sheriff.

Even so, once the woman would bid her leave and disappear amongst the townspeople's errands, August brings another wave of air deep within his lungs, as if sucking up as much motivation as he can to follow through with his word.

It wasn't as if he didn't want to drop by, it was more so the small, yet daunting fact that this is a person he's said to visit, someone who has a large reputation for seemingly never leaving their own home. 

It was a strange feeling; even causing a slight chuckle of self-weariness to leave him. 

He was well aware of the fact that it wasn't the town's label of calling the woman a 'nutcase' that taunted him with a thousand different feelings at once, it was just the fact that he's never seen her before. 

How can someone stay inside for so long?

That was the first question he ever had towards the entirety of the woman's being. 

Sure, August wasn't exactly well aware of psychology, nor it's complexities, but he was well-aware that that form of self-iscolation wasn't healthy. 

He'd heard those rumours, how 'she never leave's her home', and, 'she's caged herself in her home for month's on end', and it'd only leave him with not only his curiousity overfilling his mind, but his concern also. 

And with those thoughts, all collected into one, single, massive concoction, he had found his own personal reasoning beyond legal matters to gain some answer's. 

Darren-Floyd would clear his thought in a purpousefully audible form, August's cowboy hat tilting upwards in a following suit to his eyes raising. 

"You're... really gon' visit the lass, yeah?"

He'd question was a small, followed laugh, slightly nerve-laced, as if he were more concerned for August then for the 'crazy' woman, August tilting his head in a tired, yet large grin. 

"I gots' ta', besides, I ain't afraid of no 'crazy' woman," August boasts with fingered air-quotes to the word 'crazy', his pearl-white teeth gleaming against the sunlight as a soft, melodic chuckle seeps from his lips. 

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